0 


01V.  OF  CALIF.  L1BRAKY,  LOS  AW15L» 


"Mr.  Faviel!"  cried  Judith,  in  amaze. — Page  294. 


By 
R.  E.  VERNEDE 


With  Frontispiece  by 
GEORGE  VARIAN 


NEW  YORK 

HENRY   HOLT  AND   COMPANY 
1912 


COPYRIGHT,  1912, 

BY 
HENRY  HOLT  AND  COMPANY 

Published  August,  1912 


THE  QUINN  A  80DEN  CO.  PRESS 
RAMWAY,  N.  J. 


PREFACE 

BUTTERFLIES  should  not  be  broken  on  wheels,  and 
equally  perhaps  a  book  that  is  only  intended  for  light 
comedy  should  not  have  a  preface  explaining  it.  Still, 
a  preface  is  not  a  crime — especially  if  it  is  a  short 
preface.  What  I  want  to  explain  in  it  is  this.  Mr. 
Faviel  was  received  with  great  kindness  in  England 
when  he  made  his  appearance  there,  both  by  readers 
and  critics. 

The  critics  were  indeed  so  kind  that  it  wasn't  till 
I  happened  to  go  to  Vermont,  and  met  an  even  kinder 
critic  (kinder  because  he  spared  not)  that  I  discov- 
ered that  the  plot  of  Mr.  Faviel's  adventures  was  not 
so  lucid  as  it  should  have  been.  That  was  worse  than 
a  crime,  and  everybody  knows  what  is  worse  than  a 
crime.  Of  course  the  adventures  were  all  clear  enough 
to  me,  but  I  had  not  put  them  down  on  paper. 

Well — before  submitting  them  to  the  American 
public,  I  have  remedied  that  particular  fault — at 
least  I  hope  so.  In  any  case,  I  have,  by  the  light  of 
my  kind  American  critic's  advice,  revised  and  added 
so  much  that  I  almost  feel  as  if  I  had  written  a  new 
book.  To  celebrate  the  effort,  I  have  given  it  a  new 
name — The  Flight  of  Faviel. 

THE  AUTHOR. 


21334R1 


CONTENTS 


I.     Miss  MALLENDON'S  IDEAL 
II.     STERN    CHASE    THROUGH    BURLINGTON 

HOUSE 

III.     INTRODUCING  MR.  WILTON 

IV     THE  WAGER 

V.     MR.  BLENKENSTEIN  EFFECTS  A  COMPROMISE 

WITH  His  CONSCIENCE    .... 

VI.     LADY  MALLENDON'S  AT  HOME 

VII.     MR.  BLENKENSTEIN  GIVES  THE  SIGNAL   . 

VIII.     MR.  FAVIEL  DISAPPEARS  .... 

IX.     IN  WHICH  Miss  ETTA  WARLEY  is  SAVED 

FROM  PERIL     ...... 

X.  A  JOURNALISTIC  THUNDERBOLT 

XI.  MR.  WILTON  MAKES  A  MISTAKE     . 

XII.  FIRST  APPEARANCE  OF  MONARCH    . 

XIII.  HIGGINSON 

XIV.  MR.   BOKE   ON    THE   TRAIL 

XV.  ANOTHER  MOTOR-CAR  ACCIDENT 

XVI.  MR.  WILTON  AS  SIR  LANCELOT 

XVII.  A  LETTER  FOR  MR.  BLENKENSTEIN  . 

XVIII.  DOUBTS  IN  A  ROSE-BOWER 

XIX.  MR.  WARLEY  SETS  OUT  TO  BUY  A  WARD- 
ROBE       .        ... 

XX.  MR.  BOKE  BUYS  THE  WARDROBE 


PAGE 

3 

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17 
23 

3° 
39 
44 
S1 

58 

65 
72 
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88 

97 

1 06 

112 

118 
127 

134 
143 


vi  Contents 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XXI.  JIMMY  INTERVENES      ....  152 

XXII.  THE  OPENING  OF  THE  WARDROBE      .  162 

XXIII.  SOME  LIGHTS  ON  A  SLEUTH-HOUND   .  172 

XXIV.  ETTA  MAKES  A  DISCOVERY         .         .  181 
XXV.  THE  TRIUMPH  OF  MR.  BOKE       .         .  191 

XXVI.     THE  ARRIVAL  OF  BUTT       .         .         .  203 

XXVII.     O'LEVIN  INSINUATES    ....  216 
XXVIII.     COLONEL  GLEMMY  SUSPECTS  MR.  COP- 

PENWELL 225 

XXIX.     SIR  JASPER'S  PHOTOGRAPH  .        .        .  237 

XXX.     MOONLIGHT  AT  THE  MILL  .         .         .  245 

XXXI.     A  HOMERIC  NIGHT      ....  253 
XXXII.     THE  LAST  DAY:  (i)  DAWN.     MR.  COP- 

PENWELL  RATS         ....  266 

XXXIII.  THE  LAST  DAY:  (2)  Two  O'CLOCK  P.M. 

AT  THE  CHARITY  FETE          .         .       275 

XXXIV.  THE   LAST   DAY:     (3)    FIVE    O'CLOCK 

P.M.    THE  BOOTH  OF  CHY  FANG    .     285 
XXXV.     THE  LAST  DAY:  (4)  Six  O'CLOCK  P.M. 

THE  FLIGHT  FROM  THE  BOOTH        .     291 
XXXVI.     THE  LAST  DAY:  (5)  BETWEEN  Six  AND 
SEVEN  O'CLOCK  P.M.    IN  THE  WOODS 
OUTSIDE  THE  ASHLANDS          .         .     297 
XXXVII.     THE    LAST    DAY:  (6)   FIVE   MINUTES 
PAST    SEVEN    O'CLOCK    P.M.      MR. 
BOKE  HAS  His  REVENGE         .         .     305 
XXXVIII.     THE  END  OF  IT  ALL  .        .        .        .310 


THE   FLIGHT   OF   FAVIEL 


THE  FLIGHT  OF  FAVIEL 

CHAPTER  I 

MISS  MALLENDON'S  IDEAL 

IT  was  unworthy  of  his  luck,  Mr.  Richard  Faviel 
thought,  that  he  should  be  sitting  in  Room  IV. — or  was 
it  Room  V.  ? — of  Burlington  House,  in  a  tepid  splash 
of  sunlight,  tete-a-tete  with  Lady  Mallendon.  He  liked 
Lady  Mallendon,  and  her  sudden  simple  confidences 
and  her  equally  sudden  shrewd  criticisms,  all  quite 
characteristic,  but  mostly  about  nothing  in  particular. 
Only  a  tete-a-tete  with  Lady  Mallendon  was  a  some- 
what less  attractive  affair  than  he  had  contemplated 
when  he  pursued  her  and  her  niece  from  the  corner  of 
Piccadilly  into  the  headquarters  of  British  Art.  It 
seemed  a  pity  that  Miss  Judith  Mallendon  should  be 
looking  at  the  pictures  alone. 

The  only  consolation  Mr.  Faviel  had  was  that  Lady 
Mallendon's  confidences  had  only  a  moment  ago  taken 
a  most  interesting  turn. 

"  Don't  you  think,  Mr.  Faviel,  that  Judith  has  ar- 
rived at  a  marriageable  age?  " 

Faviel  had  thought  so  on  and  off,  but  mostly  on, 
for  the  last  six  months,  but  he  contrived  to  convey  an 
air  of  having  bestowed  his  best  attention  upon  a  sudden 
poser  before  he  replied. 

"  On  the  whole — yes " 


4  Miss  Mallendon's  Ideal 

"  That's  what  I  think,"  said  Lady  Mallendon.  "  Of 
course,  Judith  is  barely  twenty." 

"  It  is  young,"  Faviel  allowed,  feeling  his  way. 

"  I  was  married  at  seventeen  myself,  however." 

"  But  then  Sir  Jasper,"  said  Faviel  delicately,  "  knew 
that  if  he  didn't " 

"  Well,  there  were  several  others,  it's  true,  Mr. 
Faviel,"  said  Lady  Mallendon,  with  a  nod  that  was  as 
good  as  a  blush,  "  though  I  dare  say  you  don't  really 
believe  it  at  all.  Still  it  was  nice  of  you  to  say  it. 
Old  women  love  compliments.  Sir  Jasper  is  very 
clever  at  them — if  only  he  wouldn't  take  photographs 
of  me.  But  what  I  was  going  to  say — about  Judith, 
you  know — was  that  though  she  seems  reserved,  and 
the  kind  of  girl  who  would  be  ready  to  wait  quite  a 
long  time,  I'm  not  at  all  sure  that  she  wouldn't  be  very 
happy  as  a  married  woman." 

"  Somebody  would  be  very  happy  as  a  married 
man,"  said  Faviel. 

Lady  Mallendon  nodded  vigorously. 

"  I  think  so,"  she  said. 

"  I  suppose  the  difficulty  is  to  find  the  right 
man?" 

"  Well,  it  was,"  said  Lady  Mallendon. 

"  Was  ?  "  he  said,  parrot-like. 

"But  I  believe  he's  found!" 

"  How "    Faviel  paused  a  moment  to  draw  his 

breath  and  find  the  right  word.  "  How  jolly !  "  He 
was  trying  to  think  if  he  ought  to  have  foreseen  that 
Lady  Mallendon's  confidence  was  going  to  lead  up  to 
something  of  this  sort. 

"  Yes,"  she  pursued,  "  I  really  think  so.  You  know 
Judith's  ideal  has  always  been  a  strenuous  man." 

"  Topping  ideal !  "  said  Faviel  dully.    He  was  aware 


Miss  Mallendon's  Ideal  $ 

that  he  was  not  the  sort  of  man  who  is  generally  called 
strenuous  himself. 

"  The  kind  of  man  who  does  things,"  continued 
Lady  Mallendon,  elaborating  her  notion  in  all  apparent 
innocence,  "  and — and  can  pull  the  strings." 

"  What  sort  of  strings  ?  "  He  had  to  ask  something 
for  form's  sake. 

"  Oh — strings,"  said  Lady  Mallendon  vaguely. 
"  We  met  him  at  the  Tattams'  for  the  first  time  a  fort- 
night ago.  Such  a  fine-looking  man.  He  arranged  to 
meet  us  here  this  morning — for  the  pictures,  of  course. 
But  I  dare  say  you  understand  why  I  suggested  to 
Judith  that  she  should  go  on  and  look  at  the  pictures 
by  herself  while  we  sat  here." 

Faviel  was  afraid  he  did  understand.  Lady  Mal- 
lendon's guilelessness  made  things  very  obvious. 
While  he  sat  having  undesired  confidences  thrust  upon 
him,  the  strenuous  man  was  acting  as  escort  to  Judith 
Mallendon.  As  more  than  escort  probably. 

"  Yes,"  Lady  Mallendon  rattled  on,  "  I  can  remem- 
ber how  Sir  Jasper  and  I  enjoyed  looking  at  some 
pictures  together.  One  picture  I  can  still  see — par- 
ticularly the  frame.  Oh,  dear !  " 

She  stopped  short  and  emitted  a  little  cry  of  regret 
— looking  ahead  of  her. 

"  What  is  it?  "  asked  Faviel. 

"  There  is  Mr.  Blenkenstein !  " 

"Mr.— Who?" 

"  I  am  afraid  he  has  missed  Judith."  Lady  Mal- 
lendon rose. 

Out  of  the  string  of  people  that  was  winding  round 
the  room,  a  tall  heavy-built  man  had  stepped  towards 
them.  He  was  of  the  well-groomed  description;  fine- 
looking  only  by  reason  of  his  size  and  a  pair  of  blue 


6  Miss  Mallendon's  Ideal 

eyes  that  had  a  glint  of  the  police-constable  in  them. 
At  present  his  eyes  were  fixed  upon  Faviel  in  a  polite 
stare  indicating  complete  want  of  recognition.  The 
lower  part  of  his  face  was  wreathed  into  a  smile  of 
pleasure  at  the  sight  of  Lady  Mallendon.  Mr.  Blen- 
kenstein  had  evidently  practised  that  smile  in  front  of 
a  mirror  with  a  stop-watch. 

"  Met  him  at  the  Tattams',  did  they?  "  said  Faviel  to 
himself,  as  he  observed  Lady  Mallendon's  greeting 
with  recovered  serenity.  He  knew  Mr.  Blenkenstein, 
and  Mr.  Blenkenstein  knew  him,  in  spite  of  the  fact 
that,  for  the  casual  observer,  he  did  not  recognize  him. 
He  was  rather  glad  that  he  knew  Blenkenstein  and 
that  Blenkenstein  failed  so  decisively  to  recognize  him. 
It  laid  on  Blenkenstein  to  some  extent  the  onus  of 
beginning  an  antagonism  which  was  bound  to  come  in 
any  case,  and  it  justified  his  rival  in  making  that  antag- 
onism a  deliberate  one  rather  than  the  courteous  affair 
of  two  men  in  love  with  one  maid. 

At  the  same  time  there  was  something  to  admire  in 
Blenkenstein's  attitude.  It  was  adept,  if  nothing  else. 
The  fellow  could  not  have  expected  to  see  him — proba- 
bly never  even  dreamt  that  Faviel  knew  the  Mallen- 
dons — yet  on  the  spur  of  the  moment  he  had  made  up 
his  mind  to  disclaim  acquaintanceship.  He  must  have 
said  to  himself,  "  It  is  just  possible  this  one-time  ac- 
quaintance of  mine  is  intimate  enough  with  Lady 
Mallendon  to  warn  her  against  me.  I  shall  discount 
anything  he  says — and  have  a  chance  of  countering — 
by  showing  from  the  first  that  we  are  not  on  speaking 
terms." 

Faviel  beamed  upon  his  antagonist.  Lady  Mal- 
lendon had  already  shaken  hands  in  her  most  charm- 
ing manner. 


Miss  Mallendon's  Ideal  7 

"  And  have  you  been  long  here  ?  "  she  was  anxious 
to  know. 

"  I  came  at  the  time  we  fixed.  I've  been  looking 
for  you  and  Miss  Mallendon  since.  It's  my  stupidity, 
I  expect." 

"  Oh,  no,  mine,"  said  Lady  Mallendon.  "  Judith 
will  be  so  disappointed.  She  has  just  been  walking 
up  and  down  looking  at  the  pictures.  Mr.  Faviel  and 
I — do  you  know  Mr.  Faviel,  Mr.  Blenkenstein  ? — have 
been  sitting  here " 

"  Chatting,"  said  Faviel,  smiling  pleasantly  at 
Blenkenstein's  affectation  of  making  a  new  acquaint- 
ance. 

"  Ah,  indeed !  "  said  Blenkenstein,  without  any  show 
of  interest. 

"  About  you " 

"  And  all  sorts  of  things,"  said  Lady  Mallendon,  a 
little  nervously,  though  without  understanding  why 
Mr.  Blenkenstein  looked  glum.  "  Mr.  Faviel  is  so 
sympathetic.  But  you  mustn't  tell  Mr.  Blenkenstein 
what  I've  been  saying  about  him,  Mr.  Faviel,  will  you  ? 
It  might  make  him  conceited,  and " 

"Shall  we  try  and  find  Miss  Mallendon?"  asked 
Blenkenstein. 

"  Certainly.  Good-by,  Mr.  Faviel.  We  shall  see 
you  on  the  29th.  And  your  friend,  Mr.  Wilton? 
Delightful " 

Lady  Mallendon  was  hurried  off,  feeling  a  little 
abrupt  and  apologetic,  and  it  was  Faviel's  turn  to  look 
glum.  If  Lady  Mallendon's  words,  about  Judith's  dis- 
appointment, were  true  (and  certainly  girls  do  some- 
times like  brutes)  where  did  he  come  in?  Nowhere, 
that  he  could  see.  But  were  they  true?  He  had  a 
sudden  and  overwhelming  desire  to  find  out,  and 


8  Miss  M  alien  don's  Ideal 

started  to  his  feet  with  that  purpose.  Having  got  that 
length,  he  remembered  that  for  all  practical  purposes 
the  enemy  held  the  commanding  position  for  the  day. 
He  could  not  put  the  question  under  Blenkenstein's 
very  nose,  with  Lady  Mallendon  also  in  opposition. 
And  yet  if  he  did  not,  Blenkenstein  might.  Indeed 
Lady  Mallendon  had  hinted  that  he  was  there  for  that 
very  purpose. 

Halting  under  the  picture  of  a  stout  man,  whose 
chain  of  office  and  scarlet  robes  proclaimed  him  a 
mayor,  in  order  that  (the  sightseers  being  fewer  at 
this  spot)  he  might  reflect  for  a  minute  or  two  with- 
out being  informed  that  he  was  in  the  way,  Faviel 
was  roused  by  a  slap  in  the  back,  and  the  following 
words  delivered  in  a  voluble  Irish  voice : — 

"  Tis  a  pretty  picture,  Dick,  me  boy,  but  ye'll  never 
have  the  figure  for't  yourself,  so  don't  be  looking  so 
green-eyed  jealous.  They  might,  indade,  elect  ye 
mayor  if  ye  took  up  butchering  or  some  respectable 
trade,  but  they  would  not  have  your  portrait  painted. 
Ye  would  not  fit  in  with  the  other  dignitaries.  Ye 
would  be  the  exception  that  spoilt  the  municipal  gal- 
lery. Turtle  daily  would  not  help  you,  Dick.  It  comes 
of  your  Oriental  wanderings.  In  the  manewhile,  let 
me  introjuce  you  to  Mr.  Maxhaven,  of  Philadelphia. 
This,  Mr.  Maxhaven,  is  one  of  our  young  but 
promising  explorers,  Faviel  by  name,  wonder- 
ing, as  ye  can  see  for  yourself,  if  the  day  will  ever 
come  that  they'll  make  him  a  fatted  mayor.  It  will 
not " 

"  Confound  you,  O'Levin ! "  said  Faviel,  in  reply, 
as  he  shook  hands  with  the  long  American  to  whom 
he  was  thus  most  unceremoniously  introduced.  "  How 
d'you  do,  sir  ?  " 


Miss  Mallendon's  Ideal  9 

"  I  am  very  pleased  to  make  your  acquaintance,  Mr. 
Faviel,"  returned  Mr.  Maxhaven  politely. 

"  Though  the  pleasure  is  altogether  discounted,  and 
your  nose  put  out  of  joint  by  the  fact  that  I've  just 
been  introjucing  Mr.  Maxhaven  to  Miss  Mallendon 
wandering  all  forlorn.  He  has  not  looked  at  a  picture 
since,  and  ye  cannot  expect  that  he  will  look  at  you," 
said  O'Levin.  He  was  an  old  friend  of  Faviel's,  and 
a  journalist,  and  it  was  a  question  among  those  who 
knew  him  whether  his  tongue  or  his  pen  went  faster. 

"  I  find  art  exceedingly  interesting,"  said  Mr.  Max- 
haven  seriously.  "  And  it  is  the  first  time  I  have 
visited  your  British  Royal  Academy.  Exploration  is 
also  one  of  my  fortes.  Truly,  however,  the  young  lady 
to  whom  Mr.  O'Levin  was  good  enough  to  introduce 
me  in  the  other  room,  is  very  attractive " 

"  What  room  did  you  say  ?  "  asked  Faviel.  At  any 
other  time  he  would  have  been  happy  to  listen  to 
O'Levin,  and  he  liked  American  visitors.  But  it  struck 
him  that  a  possible  opportunity  had  come  his  way  that 
should  not  be  neglected. 

"  Room  III.    She's  been  around,  she  said " 

"  Excuse  me,  won't  you,  O'Levin?  I'm  in  an  awful 
hurry.  Hope  you'll  bring  Mr.  Maxhaven  to  see  me — 
to-morrow  or  next  day,  or " 

"  Lord ! "  said  O'Levin,  as  Faviel,  without  com- 
pleting his  sentence,  posted  in  the  direction  of  Room 
III.,  "  I  have  never  seen  that  young  man  in  such  a 
tearing  hurry  before.  Will  he  be  wanting  to  kill  an 
R.A.,  do  you  think?" 

"  Your  English  explorers,"  said  Mr.  Maxhaven 
solemnly,  "  would  seem  to  have  a  kindly  eye  for  the 
picturesque." 


CHAPTER  II 

STERN    CHASE   THROUGH    BURLINGTON    HOUSE 

THE  thing  that  struck  Mr.  Faviel  most  about  Bur- 
lington House  during  the  next  quarter  of  an  hour  was 
its  wonderful  construction.  The  cunning  way  in  which 
the  rooms  led  out  of  one  another  was  quite  remarka- 
ble; by  making  a  careful  reconnaissance  of  the  room 
you  were  approaching,  you  could,  without  entering  it, 
make  pretty  sure  that  the  persons  you  did  not  want  to 
meet  were  going  out  the  other  end.  If  they  were  not 
doing  so,  you  yourself  could  go  back  a  little  and  look 
at  a  picture  which  was  quite  worthy  of  attention, 
though  you  had  neglected  it  previously. 

"  I'm  sure  we  looked  at  that  before,"  said  Miss 
Mallendon  positively,  when  Mr.  Faviel  had  drawn  her 
back  to  point  out  one  of  these  masterpieces,  not  for 
the  first  time. 

"  But  it's  worth  it,  don't  you  think  ?  Such  splendid 
broad  treatment.  Look  at  the  sheep  and  the  clouds! 
Quite  one  of  the  coming  men — the  fellow  who  painted 
it." 

"What  is  his  name?" 

"  Er — Brown — F.  C.  Brown."  Mr.  Faviel  invented 
the  name  with  admirable  glibness.  Having  the  ad- 
vantage of  height,  he  had  just  seen,  across  the  tops 
of  the  people,  the  figures  of  Lady  Mallendon  and 
Blenkenstein  rising  to  continue  the  search  for  his  com- 
panion. Lady  Mallendon  had  evidently  called  a  halt 

xo 


Stern  Chase  Through  Burlington  House     n 

from  sheer  fatigue,  but  she  was  up  again  now,  and 
disappearing  in  the  distance  at  a  rapid  pace,  appar- 
ently under  the  impression  that  she  had  seen  the  object 
of  her  chase. 

"  Yes.  Brown's  an  open-air  man.  Paints  in  Nor- 
folk, I  believe,"  said  Faviel,  with  a  sigh  of  relief. 

"  Where  does  A.  R.  Cummersley  paint  ? "  asked 
Miss  Mallendon. 

"Who?" 

"  A.  R.  Cummersley.  The  catalogue  says  he  painted 
the  clouds  and  sheep  picture.  I  suppose  it's  a  mis- 
print?" 

"  Oh,  not  at  all,"  said  Faviel  promptly.  "  My 
mistake — stupid  of  me.  Brown's  somewhere  else. 
Shall  we  go  on  to  the  next  room?" 

"And  look  for  Mr.  Brown's  picture?" 

"  It's  quite  worth  looking  at,"  said  Faviel  un- 
abashed. 

"  I  should  like  to  see  it.  Why  is  it  they  haven't  got 
his  name  down  at  all,  if  he's  exhibiting?" 

There  was  humor  in  Miss  Judith  Mallendon's  gray 
eyes,  but  what  sort  of  humor  Faviel  could  not  tell.  He 
would  have  given  more  than  a  penny  for  her  thoughts, 
which  were  hidden  from  him.  It  was  this  quality  of 
reserve  in  her — which  Lady  Mallendon  had  remarked 
on — that  had  kept  Faviel  from  wanting  to  find  out  too 
exactly  what  she  thought  of  him,  that  had  kept  him 
back  for  the  last  six  months  when  he  had  fancied  he 
knew  exactly  what  he  thought  of  her,  and  that  kept  him 
back  now  when  he  had  determined  that  he  must  find 
out  for  good  or  for  bad,  seeing  that  some  one  else 
had  started  up  who — from  what  Faviel  knew  of  him — 
would  not  be  backward. 

He  liked  the  reserve — indeed  it  increased  his  ad- 


12     Stern  Chase  Through  Burlington  House 

miration  for  her — but  there  was  no  denying  that  it 
amounted  to  an  obstacle  at  the  present  moment.  Per- 
haps if  he  had  much  to  offer  her  besides  himself,  he 
would  not  have  hesitated,  being  by  nature  prompt  and 
impetuous,  and  not  afraid  to  put  his  fortune  to  the 
touch.  But  he  was  aware  that  from  a  worldly  point 
of  view  he  had  nothing  to  confer;  and  he  was  not 
aware  what  value  he  was  justified  in  attaching  to  that 
solitary  item — himself.  It  all  depended  upon  what 
she  thought,  and  that  was  what  he  did  not  know. 

He  was  not  even  sure  what  she  would  think  of  him 
when  she  found  out  the  way  in  which  he  had  circum- 
vented the  others  in  the  matter  of  their  present  com- 
panionship. He  had  come  on  her — quite  unexpectedly 
— in  Room  III.,  according  to  Mr.  Maxhaven's  direc- 
tions, and  she  had  only  been  mildly  curious  as  to  where 
she  should  find  her  aunt.  Blenkenstein  had  not  been 
mentioned.  They  were  supposed  to  be  walking  round 
until  Lady  Mallendon  should  turn  up. 

What  would  happen  then,  Faviel  had  hitherto  suc- 
ceeded in  trying  not  to  think.  Meantime,  he  had  to 
extricate  himself  from  the  pit  into  which  his  too  great 
readiness  had  plunged  him.  He  had  not  contemplated 
her  looking  at  the  catalogue  for  the  artists'  names. 
Not  that  a  small  thing  like  this  disconcerted  him. 

"  It's  my  absurd  memory,"  he  said.  "  Now  that  I 
come  to  think  of  it " 

"Yes?" 

"  Brown's  picture  is  at  the  New  Gallery.  It's  a 
pity,  isn't  it?  The  goats  are  so  uncommonly  well 
painted." 

"  The  sheep,  you  mean." 

"  The  sheep,  of  course." 

Miss  Mallendon's  eyes  twinkled  into  laughter. 


Stern  Chase  Through  Burlington  House     13 

"  And  now,"  she  said,  "  can  you  tell  me  why  we 
came  back  to  look  at  this  picture  which  isn't  Mr. 
Brown's,  but  somebody  else's  ?  " 

"  I  can,"  said  Faviel.  "  But  I'd  rather  not,  for  the 
simple  reason  that  I  want  to  talk  about  something 
else."  He  fancied  that  he  had  got  started,  mistakenly. 
If  only  she  had  looked  as  if  she  expected  the  impor- 
tance of  his  declaration.  She  didn't. 

"  Something  interesting?  "  she  asked. 

"  Lady  Mallendon  was  talking  to  me  about  your 
ideal,"  said  Faviel,  trying  to  stick  to  his  point. 

"  What  did  she  say  my  ideal  was  ?  " 

"  A  strenuous  man — who  does  things,  and  pulls 
strings  " — her  coolness  had  made  Mr.  Faviel  ironical. 
She  looked  at  him  curiously. 

"  They're  rather  like  Aunt  Georgy's  expressions," 
she  said,  nodding.  "  I  am  not  sure  that  she  isn't 
right.  If  I  were  a  man,  I  should  love  power.  I  sup- 
pose that  is  what  pulling  the  strings  means  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  that  is  what  Lady  Mallendon  meant 


"  Not  what  you  mean?  " 

She  might,  he  thought,  have  shown  a  little  more 
eagerness  in  asking  him  what  his  ideals  were.  She  was 
wondering  if  he  was  the  idler  her  aunt  had  hinted  at 
once  or  twice  of  late — since  Mr.  Blenkenstein  had 
made  her  acquaintance.  He  was  not  as  deferential  as 
Mr.  Blenkenstein,  and  she  rather  liked  that.  Except 
that  of  course  it  was  a  compliment  for  a  man  of  im- 
portance to  be  deferential  to  a  girl  of  no  importance 
whatever. 

"  I'm  awfully  bad  at  ideals,"  was  Faviel's  answer. 

"  Are  you?  "  She  seemed  to  be  summing  him  up — 
a  trying  process  for  the  person  representing  the  sum. 


14     Stern  Chase  Through  Burlington  House 

"  And  I  dislike  some  of  the  people  I've  met  who 
pull  strings.  By  the  way  " — Faviel  quite  lost  his  usual 
serenity  at  this  point,  she  looked  so  calm — "  Lady 
Mallendon  also  said  that  your  ideal  had  promised 

A.  » 

Her  cheeks  went  pink  in  a  moment  then. 

"  I  mean,"  he  said  apologetically,  "  Lady  Mallen- 
don was  saying  that  you  and  she  were  expecting  to 
meet  some  one  here  this  morning." 

They  were  at  the  moment  advancing  for  the  fourth 
time  into  Room  V.,  and  Miss  Mallendon  paused  to 
examine  a  landscape  that  was  wedged  in  among  some 
larger  pictures.  She  had  to  stoop  to  see  it  properly. 
When  she  had  done,  her  cheeks  were  of  a  normal 
color. 

"  We  were  expecting  Mr.  Blenkenstein,"  she  said. 
"  Aunt  Georgy  says  that  he  pulls  strings — in  the  City 
— finance.  I  don't  know  what  finance  is  exactly.  Aunt 
Georgy  thinks  a  great  deal  of  him " 

"And  you?" 

"  I— I  think " 

"  My  dear  Judith,  where  have  you  been?  " 

Lady  Mallendon  broke  in,  worn  and  worried-look- 
ing, upon  the  answer  for  which  Faviel  had  been 
waiting  more  eagerly  than  he  ever  remembered  to  have 
waited  for  anything. 

"  And  Mr.  Faviel  ? "  she  said,  with  great  dis- 
pleasure. "  I  thought  when  I  left  you  that  you  under- 
stood I  was  looking  for  my  niece.  I  imagined  that 
you  were  going  yourself.  In  any  case,  it  would  have 
been  kind  to  have  informed  Judith  that  Mr.  Blenken- 
stein and  I  were  looking  for  her." 

'  The  fact  is,"  said  Faviel,  conscious  that  his  case 
was  a  bad  one  and  only  partially  solaced  by  the 


Stern  Chase  Through  Burlington  House     15 

menacing  glare  in  Blenkenstein's  eye — "  Burlington 
House  is  built  wrong.  I  met  Miss  Mallendon,  as  I 
was  going  to  the  entrance,  and  we've  been  walk- 
ing round — after  you — ever  since.  It's  like  a  laby- 
rinth  " 

"  What  I  wish  to  know  is,"  said  Lady  Mallendon 
with  dignity,  "  did  you  tell  Judith  that  Mr.  Blenken- 
stein  and  I " 

Faviel's  luck  was  with  him  to  some  extent  after  all, 
for  at  that  moment  O'Levin  and  his  long  American 
friend  completed  the  group. 

"  Lady  Mallendon — by  all  that's  pleasurable,  and 
me  friend,  Blink — not  to  mention  Faviel  and  Miss 
Mallendon  whom  we've  met  before.  The  pick  of  Lon- 
don, Maxhaven,  I  assure  ye.  Lady  Mallendon,  may 
I  introjuce  Mr.  Maxhaven  of  Philadelphia ?  " 

Lady  Mallendon  composed  her  ruffled  plumes  for 
the  purpose  of  the  introduction,  and  O'Levin  con- 
tinued : 

"  It's  what  in  novels  they  call  a  coincidence  that  we 
should  have  met  in  front  of  the  picture  of  the  year. 
Ye  see  it  ?  "  He  indicated  a  large  classical  canvas  on 
the  wall  opposite,  a  "  Perseus  and  Andromeda." 

"  Fine  rich  coloring,"  said  Mr.  Maxhaven,  since  no 
one  else  volunteered  a  criticism. 

"  It  should  be,"  said  O'Levin.  "  For  why?  That 
picture,  Lady  Mallendon,  is  by  a  plumber.  Tis  the 
only  picture  by  a  plumber  that's  ever  been  known  to 
art,  and  the  young  man  who  painted  it  is  only  a 
plumber  in  a  small  way.  What's  more,  we  interviewed 
him  in  the  '  Drum  '  the  other  day,  and  his  fame  is  now 
assured  whichever  side  of  his  janius  he  develops.  A 
countess  has  commissioned  him  to  paint  her  portrait, 
and  two  dowager  dukes,  or  I  should  say,  duchesses, 


16     Stern  Chase  Through  Burlington  House 

have  invited  him  to  mend  leaks  in  their  gas-pipes. 
The  modestest  young  fellow  he  is,  too,  and  ready  to 
tell  ye  how  his  old  master  (for  he  was  apprenticed) 
used  to  knock  him  on  the  head  for  stealing  putty  to 
model  with." 

"  What  a  dreadful  thing !  "  said  Lady  Mallendon, 
who  was  chafing  to  be  at  lunch. 

"  He  bears  the  marks  still,"  said  O'Levin,  with 
relish.  "  '  Perseus  and  Andromeda,'  I  may  tell  ye,  oc- 
curred to  him  when  he  was  taking  up  the  floor  of  a 
dining-room  in  Ealing,  to  see  why  the  bath  water 
leaked.  The  pipes  were  not  there  at  all,  but  he  was 
so  wrapped  up  with  the  pothry  of  the  idea  for  his 
picture  that  he  went  on,  unconscious,  taking  up  the 
floor,  with  the  result  that  when  the  owner  of  the  house 
returned  in  the  evening  there  was  nothing  but  air  to 
walk  on.  However,  it  was  the  first  step  to  success, 
for  his  master  turned  him  off — turned  the  young 
janius  on  to  the  streets." 

"  Dear,  dear,"  said  Lady  Mallendon.  "  I  was  about 
to  ask  Mr.  Faviel " 

"  Then  he  sold  matches.  Afterwards "  O'Levin 

having  got  into  his  swing  would  not  be  denied  the 
telling  of  the  whole  story,  thereby  enabling  Faviel  to 
escape  unexamined.  If,  however,  he  could  have  fol- 
lowed the  workings  of  Mr.  Blenkenstein's  brain, 
Faviel  would  have  known  that  his  morning's  work 
was  even  less  satisfactory — to  himself — than  it  ap- 
peared on  the  surface.  And  it  did  not  appear  on  the 
surface  in  the  smallest  degree  satisfactory. 


CHAPTER  III 

INTRODUCING   MR.    WILTON 

"  MOST  extraordinary  and  inexcusable !  " 

That  is  how  Lady  Mallendon  characterized  Mr.  Fa- 
viel's  conduct,  after  cross-examining  Judith,  who  ap- 
parently could  not  explain  it  at  all. 

"  Never  to  have  informed  you  that  Mr.  Blenken- 
stein  and  I  were  looking  for  you  everywhere?  That 
is  what  surprises  me." 

"  It  is  funny,"  said  Judith,  "  isn't  it?  " 

"  It  almost  looks,"  Lady  Mallendon  argued,  "  as 
though  he  had  been  annoyed  by  my  getting  up  to  go 
round  with  Mr.  Blenkenstein.  Young  men  seem  to 
think  themselves  of  such  importance  nowadays  that 
I  shouldn't  be  at  all  surprised  if  that  had  vexed  him. 
Still,  even  if  he  were  vexed,  he  had  no  right  to  retaliate 
by  keeping  you  in  ignorance  of  the  fact  that  Mr. 
Blenkenstein  and  I " 

"  Certainly  not,"  said  Judith  hurriedly. 

"  And,  in  fact,  I  call  it  impertinent  of  Mr.  Faviel. 
I  am  rather  sorry  that  I  sent  invitations  to  him  and 
his  friend  for  the  '  At  Home '  on  the  29th,  for  really 
I  shall  not  feel  at  all  pleased  to  see  him  for  some  time. 
I  cannot  withdraw  the  invitations,  but  I  shall  certainly 
be  out  if  he  calls  in  the  meantime.  So  will  you,  Judith." 

"  Yes,  Aunt  Georgy." 

"  To    think    that    he    should    have    allowed    Mr. 

Blenkenstein  and  me " 

17 


1 8  Introducing  Mr.  Wilton 

"  Yes,  Auntie,"  said  Judith,  and  beat  a  retreat. 

She  could  not  explain  to  Lady  Mallendon,  or,  in- 
deed, to  any  one,  why  Mr.  Faviel  had  behaved  in  the 
way  he  had.  She  did  not  herself  know  for  certain. 
An  original  minded  young  woman,  brought  up  in  an 
old-fashioned  style,  she  was  at  once  older  and 
younger  than  her  years;  a  queer  mixture  of  deter- 
mination and  docility.  In  this  case,  her  docile  side 
made  her  willing  to  accept  Lady  Mallendon's  maxims, 
about  the  praiseworthiness  and  desirability  of  an 
energetic  career — and  therefore  of  Mr.  Blenkenstein — 
as  indisputable.  Mr.  Blenkenstein  was,  without  doubt, 
a  man  to  admire. 

Why,  then,  Judith  asked  herself  in  the  privacy  of 
her  own  room,  why  did  she  like  Mr.  Faviel?  Why 
was  she  not  vexed  by  what  had  occurred  in  Burling- 
ton House  ?  Why  would  she  have  liked  more  to  know 
what  Mr.  Faviel  had  been  going  to  say  to  her  there 
than  she  would  have  liked  to  know  what  Mr.  Blenken- 
stein was  going  to  say  to  her — so  far  as  she  could 
judge — not  very  long  hence? 

Perhaps  it  was  the  uncertainty  of  what  he  had  been 
going  to  say  that  made  her  eager  for  it.  Perhaps — a 
score  of  perhapses  presented  themselves  to  her  mind, 
but  she  ended  by  deciding  that  she  ought  to  think  that 
Lady  Mallendon  was  right.  If  she  were  not  right, 
circumstances  would  contradict  her.  Circumstances  or 
Mr.  Faviel.  If  there  were  more  in  him  than  Lady 
Mallendon  supposed,  the  fact  of  their  being  out  when 
he  called  would  not  deter  him.  He  might  not  call. 

Faviel  did  call,  and  was  rather  annoyed  to  learn 
that  Lady  Mallendon  was  not  in.  Such  a  coincidence 
as  a  lady  being  out  when  her  servant  announces  the 
fact,  is  not  impossible.  But  then  he  also  met  the 


Introducing  Mr.  Wilton  19 

Mallendons  at  the  house  of  a  mutual  friend,  was 
treated  by  Lady  Mallendon  with  a  coolness  that  must 
have  cost  her  a  fever  of  preliminary  practice,  and  had 
not  a  chance  of  talking  with  Judith.  He  also  under- 
stood that  Blenkenstein  had  become  a  frequent  and 
favored  guest  at  the  Mallendons'  house. 

These  things  working  together  ruffled  even  Faviel's 
serenity — which  had  become  quite  a  byword  among 
his  friends — and  seriously  perplexed  Lieutenant  Tod 
Wilton,  R.E.,  at  present  home  from  Egypt,  and 
stopping  with  Faviel,  as  he  always  did  when  he  had 
the  chance.  Faviel  had  been  the  hero  and  friend  of 
Mr.  Wilton's  schooldays,  and  continued  to  be,  in  that 
young  officer's  opinion,  the  most  brilliant  and  admira- 
ble mortal  that  a  man  ever  had  for  friend.  Faviel 
perturbed  was  a  spectacle  Mr.  Wilton  had  never  con- 
templated, though  he  had  seen — at  various  periods — 
Faviel  tree'd  by  a  farmer's  dogs  and  men;  Faviel 
birched  by  his  head  master;  Faviel  invited  to  fight  a 
duel  (in  German  days)  ;  Faviel  started,  at  an  increas- 
ing pace,  down  an  ice  slope  in  the  Himalayas;  and 
various  other  Faviels  in  difficulties  which  would  upset 
the  ordinary  man.  It  added  to  Mr.  Wilton's  perplexity 
that  he  could  not  find  out  any  adequate  reason  for 
Faviel's  perturbation.  He  understood  vaguely  that  a 
certain  Miss  Mallendon  had  attracted  Faviel's  atten- 
tion, but  he  merely  supposed  that  Miss  Mallendon 
(whom  he  had  not  seen)  would  know  herself  to  be, 
what  in  his — Tod's — opinion  she  certainly  would  be, 
namely,  a  very  lucky  girl,  if  Faviel's  attentions  re- 
sulted in  what  attentions  do  occasionally  result  in — a 
proposal. 

It  was  not  until  the  evening  of  the  day  before  Lady 
Mallendon's  At  Home — at  which  Wilton  understood 


2O  Introducing  Mr.  Wilton 

he  was  to  have  the  honor  of  seeing  Miss  Mallendon — 
that  Faviel  enlightened  him  at  all  in  regard  to  this 
matter.  Then,  as  they  were  dressing  for  a  dinner 
which  was  to  be  given  by  O'Levin  at  his  rooms  in 
honor  of  his  own  recent  appointment  to  the  editor- 
ship of  the  "  Drum  " — a  journal  proudly  and  lucidly 
described  by  its  new  conductor  as  "  the  Earliest  Even- 
ing Paper  in  the  World  " — Faviel  began  to  talk. 

"  It's  rather  lucky,"  he  said,  "  that  we  got  the  Mal- 
lendon invitations  a  fortnight  ago." 

"Why?" 

"  Mightn't  have  got  them  at  all  if  we  hadn't." 

Wilton  pressed  for  an  explanation. 

"  I'm  not  in  good  odor  with  Lady  Mallendon,"  said 
Faviel.  "  She's  very  jolly,  but  she  has  a  financier  in 
her  eye  as  a  nephew-in-law,  and  I  played  him  a  trick 
the  other  day — since  when  I  have  become  non-existent 
for  Lady  Mallendon."  He  related  the  incident  of  the 
Academy.  Wilton's  opinion  of  Lady  Mallendon  fell 
to  a  very  low  ebb. 

"  I  don't  see  that  it  mattered,"  he  said.  "  And  I 
should  have  thought  you  were  as  good  as  a  finan- 
cier." 

"  I'm  more  virtuous  than  J.  D.  Blenkenstein,  who  is, 
in  fact,  rather  a  rogue.  Did  I  ever  tell  you  how  I 
made  his  acquaintance?" 

"  No." 

Faviel  related  that  incident  also.  It  seemed  that  on 
his  return  from  some  Eastern  travels  he  had  been 
asked  by  Blenkenstein,  whom  he  did  not  know,  to 
speak  in  favor  of  some  mines,  which,  he  gathered,  were 
owned  by  a  company  directed,  and  possibly  owned  in 
its  turn,  by  Blenkenstein. 

"  I  happened  to  have  inspected  the  mines.     Quite 


Introducing  Mr.  Wilton  21 

deep  mines,  but  nothing  in  them.  Blenkenstein  seemed 
to  think  that  the  substitution  of  the  word  '  valuable  ' 
for  '  deep  '  was  a  simple  matter.  I  suggested  that  a 
simpler  way  of  arranging  any  difficulty  there  might 
be  would  be  for  me  to  kick  him  downstairs.  However, 
he  rang  his  bell  then  and  had  in  a  bevy  of  clerks,  so 
that  we  had  to  compromise  the  matter  by  parting  in 
mutual  wrath." 

"  And  Lady  Mallendon  wants  him  for  her  niece  ?  " 
said  Wilton,  in  disgust. 

"  Well,  she  doesn't  know  him.  Besides,  he  may  be 
a  model  of  private  virtue.  Business  is  a  thing  apart 
nowadays.  He's  a  great  man." 

"  You'll  get  the  Burah  consulate  probably." 

It  had  been  hinted  to  Faviel  from  what  are  known 
as  influential  quarters  that  the  Foreign  Office  was  seri- 
ously considering  the  question  of  whether  they  might 
not  make  a  step  forward  and  appoint  the  most  com- 
petent man  they  could  find,  instead  of  a  favored  nonen- 
tity, to  this  not  unimportant  office.  The  decision  was 
to  be  made  some  time  in  the  course  of  the  next  three 
months. 

"  I  don't  know  that  I've  got  enough  to  justify  me  in 
accepting  it,  even  if  they  offer  it  me,"  Faviel  said. 
"  More  kicks  than  ha'pence  at  Burah,  and  it  doesn't 
make  one  great  to  be  consul  there." 

"  It's  better  than  swindling  in  the  City." 

"  Lady  Mallendon  can't  know  that." 

"  But  you  don't  propose  to  marry  Lady  Mallen- 
don ?"  Tod  urged. 

"  No.  I  propose  to  marry  Judith  Mallendon," 
said  Faviel.  "  But  I  don't  at  the  present  moment  see 
how  I'm  going  to  do  it.  Have  to  shoot  Blenkenstein 
first,  I  expect." 


22  Introducing  Mr.  Wilton 

Tod's  opinion  of  Miss  Judith  Mallendon  also  fell 
to  a  low  ebb  at  this  point.  She  might  be  beautiful, 
but  she  could  hardly,  he  said  to  himself,  have  much 
intelligence  if  Blenkenstein  stood  to  her  for  a  possible 
husband. 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE   WAGER 

IT  struck  Tod  Wilton,  from  the  very  first  moment 
that  he  heard  the  man  whom  Faviel  and  he  had  been 
discussing  was  expected  at  O'Levin's  that  night,  that 
something  dramatic  was  bound  to  happen.  The  ques- 
tion was,  what  form  the  drama  would  assume. 

O'Levin,  who  did  not  know  more  than  that  Blen- 
kenstein  and  Faviel  had  had  some  disagreement  at  one 
time  or  another,  greeted  them  on  the  threshold  with 
the  news  that  he  had  invited  Blenkenstein.  He  was 
apologetic  about  it. 

"  'Tis  yourself  that  reminds  me,"  he  said  to  Faviel, 
as  soon  as  they  had  shaken  hands.  "  I  knew  in  a 
sort  of  double-sighted  way  that  there  was  going  to 
be  something  wrong  with  the  meal  to-night,  and 
'twouldn't  be  the  wine,  for  I  bought  it  at  an  auction, 
and  if  it  isn't  good,  it's  cheap,  as  the  auctioneer  said 
after  I'd  bought  it,  bad  cess  to  'urn!  'Tis  that  I've 
invited  Blenkenstein — J.  D.  Blenkenstein — and  now, 
seeing  your  merry  face,  it  tears  through  me  mimory 
that  you  and  he  hate  each  other  like  cats." 

"  Do  you  want  me  to  go  ? "  Faviel  asked,  stacking 
his  hat  and  coat  the  while. 

"  No.  I'd  sooner  kick  Blink  downstairs,  though 
'twouldn't  be  hospitable  in  the  best  sinse  of  the  word, 
and  the  damages  I'd  have  to  pay  for  injuring  a  bucket- 
shop  king  'ud  ruin  the  '  Drum.'  I  wouldn't  have  ye 

33 


24  The  Wager 

go  for  worlds.  But  that's  just  it.  Would  ye  mind, 
now,  putting  up  with  him  for  the  evening?  " 

"  Not  a  bit." 

O'Levin  breathed  a  breath  of  mock  relief. 

"  You  don't  think,"  Faviel  asked,  "  that  he'll  mind 
putting  up  with  me  ?  " 

"  Not  he,"  said  O'Levin.  "  Blink's  a  Christian,  as 
far  as  forgiving  the  enemies  he's  made  is  concerned. 
And  he  likes  to  be  glared  at.  It  makes  him  feel  great. 
Indeed,  now  that  I  come  to  think  of  it,  I  remember 
I  told  him  you  were  coming,  and  he  looked  as  pleased 
as  Midas  before  his  ears  went  gold." 

It  was  not  easy  to  see  the  steadfast  facts  through 
O'Levin's  volubility,  but  it  seemed  to  Mr.  Wilton, 
when  he  considered  the  matter  later,  that  whether 
Blenkenstein  had  foreseen  his  particular  opportunity 
in  the  dinner  or  not,  he  had  probably  come  to  pick  a 
quarrel,  and  O'Levin  might  not  have  been  unaware 
of  it.  The  Irishman  loved  a  joke  or  a  quarrel.  As 
it  turned  out,  the  re-introduction  of  Blenkenstein  to 
Faviel  passed  off  comparatively  smoothly. 

"  I  believe  you  know  Faviel,"  O'Levin  had  said ; 
"  or  Faviel  knows  you." 

"  Ah,  yes ;  I  know  Mr.  Faviel,"  said  Blenkenstein. 
"  Don't  fancy  I've  seen  you,  though,  for  some  time." 
He  had  a  heavy,  patronizing  manner,  in  direct  contrast 
to  Faviel's  easy  gaiety. 

"  I  thought  I  saw  you  at  the  Academy  the  other 
day,  with  Lady  Mallendon,"  was  the  answer  Blenken- 
stein got. 

"  I  didn't  know  you  knew  the  Mallendons,"  said 
Blenkenstein  ironically. 

"  Not  well  enough  to  dictate  their  friends  to 
them." 


The  Wager  25 

Some  one  prevented  the  interchange  of  further 
amenities  by  admiring  a  new  picture  on  the  walls. 

"  It  ought  to  be  genuine,"  said  O'Levin;  "  I  got  it 
at  the  same  auction  as  the  wine.  And  I  had  a  towel- 
horse  thrown  in — all  for  seven  pounds  tin." 

Mr.  Maxhaven,  who  was  one  of  the  guests,  mur- 
mured something  about  his  doctor's  bills,  and  dinner 
was  announced.  It  proceeded  amicably  enough  at  first. 
The  "  Drum,"  coupled  with  the  name  of  its  new  editor, 
was  toasted,  and  O'Levin  thanked  the  company  on 
behalf  of  that  "  sweet  little  rag." 

Galton,  an  artist,  who  had  been  at  the  same  school 
as  O'Levin,  Wilton  and  Faviel,  complained  of  the  size 
of  the  print,  and  O'Levin  promptly  started  a  theory 
that  all  artists  were  astigmatic. 

"  They  don't  see  double,  like  journalists,  at  any 
rate,"  said  Galton. 

Mr.  Wilton,  back  from  comparative  exile,  listened 
with  pleasure.  The  repartee  reminded  him  of  his 
schooldays,  and  he  said  so,  which  brought  the  others 
down  on  him  in  a  body — with  reminiscences.  Faviel 
recalled  that  Galton  had  always  been  celebrated  for 
inkstains  on  his  fingers. 

"  He  puts  them  on  paper  now,  and  calls  himself  an 
artist,"  said  O'Levin.  "  D'ye  remember  Faviel's  ode 
on  the  occasion  of  Topsy  leading  Mrs.  Topsy  to  the 
altar  ?  "  They  all  remembered  the  famous  composi- 
tion— in  the  heroic  style — ending  with  the  lines : — 

"  Ten  years  round  Ilium  strove  the  valorous  Greeks : 
The  Rev.  Turvey  won  his  Helen  in  ten  weeks." 

It  had  been  presented  with  good  intent  to  the  Rev. 
Adolphus  Turvey  on  his  return  to  school  at  the  end 
of  the  summer  holidays  with  a  wife,  but  for  some 


26  The  Wager 

reason  it  was  considered  an  impertinence.  Faviel  had 
been  caned  for  it. 

"  One  of  the  rare  occasions  when  ye  were,"  said 
O'Levin.  "  Ye  always  had  the  luck." 

"  Is  that  so  ?  "  said  Blenkenstein.  He  had  been  lis- 
tening with  the  face  of  a  man  who  has  to  tolerate 
conversation  to  which  he  is  supremely  indifferent,  and 
his  interjection  at  this  point  was  nearly  provocative. 
The  subject,  however,  that  actually  roused  the  discord 
which  Wilton  had  somehow  expected  from  the  first 
was  started  later. 

Some  one — and  Wilton  could  not  have  said  for  cer- 
tain who — mentioned  a  case  of  disappearance,  one  of 
those  curious  cases  in  which  a  man,  without  warning 
or  apparent  motive,  goes  out  of  this  world  once  and 
for  all,  leaving  no  trace.  Wilton  rather  fancied  that 
it  was  O'Levin's  American  friend,  Maxhaven,  who 
began  insisting  on  the  mystery  generally  noticeable  in 
these  cases.  Faviel  agreed. 

"  The  police  are  often  blamed,"  he  said.  "  But  it 
seems  to  me " 

"  Very  properly  too !  "  Blenkenstein's  words  were 
a  distinct  interruption. 

"  But  it  seems  to  me,  I  was  going  to  say,"  Faviel 
proceeded  with  his  usual  serenity — "  that  to  blame  the 
police  in  such  cases  is  rather  too  easy  a  way.  There 
are  hundreds  of  cases — every  one  can  guess  at  them — 
in  which  you  cannot  keep  official  scrutiny  on  the  pri- 
vate person." 

Blenkenstein  leant  across  the  table. 

"  You  don't  think  our  detective  service  a  farce?  " 

Apart  from  the  deliberately  disagreeable  way  in 
which  he  thrust  the  question  at  Faviel,  any  one  might 
have  been  annoyed  at  having  an  interesting  topic  so 


The  Wager  27 

unintelligently  squashed.  It  was  like  a  horse-laugh 
to  a  philosopher  delicately  theorizing — a  thing  that 
makes  it  rather  difficult  for  a  philosopher  to  retain  his 
philosophy.  It  roused  Faviel. 

"  They  don't  catch  every  one  they  ought  to,"  he 
said. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  Blenkenstein  rapped  out. 
"  I  don't  understand  you." 

"No?" 

Faviel  began  to  peel  a  walnut.  It  was  plain  enough 
to  every  one  present  that  what  had  been  a  general  topic 
had  become  a  personal  one,  and  that  two  of  O'Levin's 
guests  were  prepared  to  quarrel.  O'Levin  himself 
looked  unhappy. 

"  Well,  me  boys,"  he  began,  in  his  most  practised 
brogue  (he  was  a  Cockney  Irishman,  and  had  been  at 
some  pains  to  acquire  the  right  inflection),  "if  you 
was  to  ask  me,  I'd  say " 

But  Blenkenstein  was  not  to  be  denied. 

"  I  understand  that  Mr.  Faviel  and  I  differ  about 
this  point.  I  don't  say  anything  about  Mr.  Faviel's 
way  of  arguing.  It's  not  my  style.  All  I  want  to 
know  is  whether  Mr.  Faviel  would  go  a  little  further 
and  back  his  opinion." 

"  Any  one  of  them,"  said  Faviel.  "  I  don't  quite 
see,  though,  how  we're  going  to  prove  Scotland  Yard 
a  farce,  even  by  a  wager  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know,"  said  O'Levin,  relieved  by  the 
notion  that  nothing  worse  was  coming  off  than  a 
wager.  "  I  could  set  a  Missing  Competition — for  de- 
tectives only — in  the  '  Drum.'  Be  jabers,  'tisn't  such 
a  stale  notion.  First  prize,  a  silver-plated  truncheon. 
Second  prize, '  The  Soul's  Awakening/  Framed  com- 
plete." 


28  The  Wager 

Blenkenstein  forced  a  smile. 

"  I  take  it,"  he  said,  "  that  the  difference  between 
Mr.  Faviel  and  myself  is  that  he  thinks  it  an  easy 
matter  to  disappear,  and  I  don't.  I  say  the  detective 
who  can't  run  down  a  man  who's  disappeared  is  a 
fool.  See?  Well,  the  wager  I've  got  in  my  mind  is 
this — I'd  back  myself  to  trace  any  man  who  likes  to 
vanish  within  a  month." 

"  That's  sporting,"  said  O'Levin. 

"  And  the  man  might  be  Mr.  Faviel,  if  he  really 
fancied  it." 

Here  was  the  point  at  which,  if  Wilton  was  right 
in  supposing  that  Blenkenstein  had  deliberately  tried 
to  foist  a  wager  on  Faviel,  he  could  point  to  some 
marks  of  evidence.  The  test  Blenkenstein  had  sug- 
gested was  not  obviously  the  outcome  of  Faviel's  argu- 
ment. It  was  not  in  any  way  a  fair  deduction  from 
it.  On  the  other  hand,  it  sounded  distinctly  a  sporting 
challenge. 

Coming  as  it  did  on  the  top  of  a  personal  difference, 
it  clearly  appealed  to  the  company.  A  glance  round 
showed  that  Faviel's  answer  was  awaited  with  interest. 
Faviel  himself  did  not  glance  round,  but  finished  peel- 
ing his  walnut. 

"  What  would  the  stakes  be  ?  "  he  asked. 

Blenkenstein  seemed  to  understand  the  sort  of  man 
he  was  dealing  with. 

"  Oh,  I  never  bother  myself  about  a  thing  unless  I 
stand  to  win  something  respectable." 

"  So  I've  heard." 

"  I  dare  say  you  wouldn't  fancy  it,"  said  Blenken- 
stein, rather  quicker.  "  Not  less  than  five  thousand." 

"  How  much  more?  " 

"  Another  five." 


The  Wager  29 

"  Done !  "  said  Faviel,  and  Mr.  Wilton  found  him- 
self swiftly  and  suddenly  doing  mental  arithmetic. 
From  what  he  knew  of  his  friend's  affairs,  ten  thou- 
sand pounds  would  represent  the  chief  part  of  his  pos- 
sessions. He  stood  to  lose  it  to  that  sneering  brute, 
and  make  a  fool  of  himself  into  the  bargain.  What 
was  he  saying? 

"  Did  you  get  the  walnuts  with  the  towel-horse, 
O'Levin?" 

"  I  did  not,"  said  O'Levin,  made  curt  by  sheer 
admiration.  He  also  was  thinking — as  his  next  words 
showed — of  the  size  of  the  stakes. 

"  Ye've  turned  my  humble  apartments  between  ye 
into  a  kind  of  Crockford's.  I'll  be  raided  by  the 
police.  Ten  thousand  pounds !  Ye'd  better  be  making 
it  a  pony  now.  A  pony's  a  homelier  and  more  rea- 
sonable sum." 

So  Wilton  thought,  and  would  have  said,  but  that  it 
would  have  looked  like  helping  his  friend  out  of  a 
tight  place.  Faviel  would  have  been  annoyed.  And, 
indeed,  there  was  obviously  nothing  to  be  done.  The 
rest  of  the  guests,  pleased  with  the  importance  of  a 
wager  in  which  they  had  no  concern,  and  being  mostly 
young  men,  offered  no  dissuasions.  On  the  contrary, 
they  resolved  themselves  very  readily  into  a  court  of 
honor  to  decide  the  rules  which  should  govern  the 
wager. 


CHAPTER  V 

MR.  BLENKENSTEIN  EFFECTS  A  COMPROMISE  WITH  HIS 
CONSCIENCE 

AT  three  o'clock  precisely  on  the  afternoon  follow- 
ing there  presented  himself  at  the  Inquiry  Office  of 
the  Capital  Cities  Exchange,  Ltd.,  a  middle-aged  man 
whose  appearance,  suggesting  at  one  and  the  same  time 
the  gravity  of  a  highly  respectable  butler  and  the  lax- 
ness  of  a  Bookie,  over  whom  clouds  have  rolled,  might 
have  left  even  a  keen  observer  in  ignorance  of  his 
vocation  in  life.  A  keen  observer  might,  however, 
have  noticed  that  it  was  the  clothes  of  the  middle-aged 
man  which  suggested  the  butler,  whereas  a  humorous 
leer  and  a  certain  weakness  of  the  legs  brought  up 
reminiscences  of  the  less  weighty  profession. 

He  inquired,  in  a  voice  of  which  the  huskiness  could 
not  conceal  the  affability,  if  Mr.  Blenkenstein  was  in. 

The  youth,  whose  business  it  was  to  answer  such 
inquiries,  but  whose  occupation  at  the  moment  it  was 
to  look  for  signs  of  a  coming  mustache  in  a  small  and 
cheaply-made  pocket-mirror,  threw  a  dignified  glance 
at  the  inquirer. 

"  What  name  ?  "  he  said,  in  a  tone  that  showed  he 
was  going  further  than  he  generally  went  in  noting  the 
middle-aged  man's  name. 

"  Mr.  Boke,"  said  the  middle-aged  man. 

"  Queer  sort  of  name,"  said  the  youth.     "  Can't 

possibly  see  Mr.  Blenkenstein  to-day,  Boke " 

30 


Mr.  Blenkenstein  Effects  a  Compromise     31 

"Not?" 

"  No." 

The  youth  returned  to  his  mirror,  as  though  Mr. 
Boke  had  served  his  purpose,  and  no  longer  remained 
within  his  sphere.  The  fact  that  Mr.  Boke  did  not 
immediately  retire  was  not — it  seemed — a  matter  of 
surprise  to  him,  or  in  any  way  worthy  of  his  attention. 
People  often  waited  a  little  like  that — one  would  guess 
— after  hearing  that  adamantine  refusal  from  his  lips. 
Eventually,  they  got  tired,  and  went  away. 

Mr.  Boke  might  be  getting  tired,  but  that  eventu- 
ality did  not  occur  to  him.  The  youth  glancing  up 
at  the  end  of  another  course  of  self -investigation 
found  Mr.  Boke's  eyes  fixed  upon  him  in  a  genial 
way. 

"  And  how  many  can  you  count  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Boke, 
in  his  affable  voice. 

"  Look  here,"  said  the  youth,  pinkly  wroth,  "  what 
do  you  mean,  eh?  " 

"  It  should  be  simple  arithmetic,"  said  Mr.  Boke, 
undeterred  by  the  ferocious  tone  of  the  question,  "  and 
a  sharp  young  fellow  like  you  ought  to  be  able  to  tot 
'em  up  pretty  quick.  I'm  not  in  what  you  could  call 
the  deuce  of  a  hurry,  and  I  can  wait  till  you've  got 
the  answer,  put  it  down  on  an  invoice,  and  addressed 
it  to  your  mother.  Then — I  shall  be  glad  to  see  Mr. 
Blenkenstein — and " 

"  Go  to  the " 

"Sh-sh!  Naughty!"  said  Mr.  Boke.  "And— as 
I  was  going  on  to  say  when  your  young  jaws  let  slip 
the  word  Jerusalem — or  whatever  it  might  ha'  been — 
and  Mr.  Blenkenstein — being,  so  far  as  I  am  ac- 
quainted with  him,  of  a  punctual  disposition — will  be 
glad  to  see  me.  It's  an  appointment,  sonny.  So  don't 


32     Mr.  Blenkenstein  Effects  a  Compromise 

stop  to  tell  me  what  you'd  like  to  say  if  you  was  the 
Prince  of  Wales,  but  run !  " 

Something  in  the  inflection  of  Mr.  Boke's  voice — 
which  was,  however,  as  affable  as  ever — warned  the 
youth  that  he  was  not  dealing  with  the  ordinary 
inquirer.  Crestfallen,  and  without  waiting  for  more 
remarks,  he  plunged  out  of  the  glass  box  in  which  he 
had  hitherto  been  preserved,  and  scuttled  along  the 
corridor  on  the  right. 

He  returned  shortly,  to  say  that  Mr.  Blenkenstein 
would  see  Mr.  Boke  at  once.  Would  Mr.  Boke  come 
this  way? 

"  Mr.  Boke  '11  try,"  said  that  gentleman.  "  Totter 
along,  Augustus." 

Thus  urged,  the  youth  conducted  Mr.  Boke  to  the 
sumptuous  room  in  which  Mr.  Blenkenstein  was  in  the 
habit  of — as  Lady  Mallendon  had  phrased  it  with  a 
not  imprudent  vagueness — "  pulling  strings."  Mr. 
Blenkenstein  was  walking  up  and  down  it  somewhat 
restlessly,  a  thing  that  did  not  escape  Mr.  Boke's 
notice,  for  having  already  become  entirely  the  re- 
spected butler  in  facial  expression,  he  showed  further 
powers  of  adaptation  to  environment  by  saying  in  a 
voice,  only  slightly  hoarse  and  entirely  deferential: — 

"  I  was  very  pleased,  sir,  to  be  in  when  your  message 
came  round.  Anything  that  you  may  trust  to  me,  Mr. 
Blenkenstein,  I  take  the  liberty  to  say  is  worth  doing." 

"  Ah — well,  take  a  chair,  Boke.  Do  you  smoke  ? 
Have  a  cigar." 

Mr.  Boke  accepted  a  cigar,  it  being  his  motto  never 
to  lose  a  chance,  with  some  inward  surprise.  In  the 
direction  of  such  little  jobs  as  Mr.  Blenkenstein  had 
previously  employed  him  for,  concerned  mostly  with 
moneys  overdue  and  reputations  overdrawn,  that  gen- 


Mr.  Blenkenstein  Effects  a  Compromise     33 

tleman  had  never  thought  it  worth  while  to  be  par- 
ticularly gracious  or  condescending.  It  was  not  his 
habit  in  dealing  with  his  inferiors,  and  there  was,  he 
opined,  little  to  be  gained  by  it.  But  in  employing 
Boke  for  a  present  comparatively  private  and  social 
end,  Blenkenstein  had  decided  that — since  he  would 
probably  have  in  any  case  to  be  confidential — he  might 
as  well  go  further,  and  instruct  Boke  in  a  friendly 
way. 

"  Like  that  cigar,  eh  ?  Good  ?  It  ought  to  be.  I 
gave  sixty  shillings  a  hundred  for  'em.  Well,  about 
this  job.  I  may  as  well  tell  you  at  once,  Boke,"  said 
Blenkenstein,  rendered  a  little  fussy  by  reason  of  hav- 
ing to  be  so  unusually  gracious,  "  it's  a  private  matter. 
You'll  be  acting  for  me  personally,  not  for  the  Com- 
pany. The  fact  is,  I've  got  a  wager  on." 

"With  a  friend,  sir?" 

"  Yes— no." 

"  With  a  gentleman,  I  should  say,  perhaps,  with 
whom  you  have  no  business  relations " 

"  That's  it,"  said  Blenkenstein,  unconscious  of  any 
irony  in  this  definition  of  friendship.  "  A  man  I  know 
has  betted  me  that  he'll  disappear  for  a  month  without 
my  being  able  to  track  him.  There's  a  good  deal  of 
money  on  it."  Blenkenstein  came  to  an  uneasy 
standstill.  "  What  do  you  think  his  chances  are, 
Boke?". 

Mr.  Boke  had  got  out  a  flat,  soiled  notebook. 

"If  he  hasn't  had  much  of  a  start,  sir,  his  chances 
are,  I  may  say,  nil.  Name  and  address  of  the  gentle- 
man, if  you  please.  Habits,  if  you  know  them.  Terms 
of  the  wager." 

Mr.  Boke  rattled  off  the  heads  of  his  requirements 
with  a  professional  gusto,  and  became  aware  at  the 


34     Mr.  Blenkenstein  Effects  a  Compromise 

end  of  it  that  Blenkenstein's  attention  had  wandered. 
He  was  looking  at  the  wall  opposite,  revolving  many 
things.  One  was  a  regret  that  Faviel  hadn't  started 
yet.  He  had  regretted  that  ever  since  he  had  realized 
how  it  would  have  simplified  things. 

Only  after  he  had  made  the  wager  had  the  full 
beauty  of  the  opportunities  it  opened  up  been  revealed 
to  him.  He  had  gone  to  O'Levin's  dinner  wishing  all 
manner  of  evil  to  Faviel;  he  had  always  hated  the 
fellow  ever  since  that  affair  of  the  mines.  But  he 
had  never  before  seen  a  chance  of  getting  back  on  him. 
He  had  not  seen  it  there  even,  until  the  wager  had 
been  actually  made.  Despite  Wilton's  suspicions,  he 
had  made  the  wager  on  the  spur  of  the  moment,  as 
a  matter  of  provocation.  He  had  meant  to  provoke 
Faviel,  and  though  he  had  not  started  the  conversation 
about  people  who  disappear,  he  had  realized  at  once 
that  to  contradict  Faviel  was  to  score  a  point.  The 
wager  had  followed  almost  equally  without  fore- 
thought. He  had  merely  meant  Faviel  to  feel  how 
small  a  person  he  was  in  comparison  with  himself — 
Blenkenstein — in  a  matter  where  Money  counted.  He 
had  never  for  a  moment  supposed  either  that  Faviel 
had  the  money  to  stake  or  the  coolness  to  stake  it. 

The  very  instant  the  wager  had  been  made,  however, 
he  had  perceived  some  of  the  possibilities  to  which  it 
might  lead.  One  of  them  was  Faviel's  pecuniary  ruin. 
The  other,  more  important  and  far  more  desirable  in 
Blenkenstein's  eyes,  was  his  undoing  in  the  matter  of 
his  relations  with  Judith  Mallendon. 

Blenkenstein's  perceptions  were  not  of  the  finest,  but 
he  understood  vaguely  that  Miss  Mallendon  was  for 
some  reason  best  known  to  herself  holding  the 
balance  between  himself  and  Faviel.  The  fellow 


Mr.  Blenkenstein  Effects  a  Compromise     35 

had  some  attraction  for  her,  and  she  could 
not  see  that  he  was  a  waster.  At  least  she  could 
not  see  it  plainly  enough  to  make  up  her  mind  to 
say  good-by  to  him.  She  had  her  suspicions  of  him 
of  course.  Lady  Mallendon  had  seen  to  that — with 
his  assistance.  Queer  old  thing — Lady  Mallendon 
— muddle-headed  of  course,  but  quite  right  in  admir- 
ing finance  and  financiers,  though  she  knew  no  more 
about  them  than  she  did  about  flying — absolutely  right 
in  regarding  Faviel  as  a  waster.  Blenkenstein  was 
not  particularly  given  to  moral  fervors,  but  he  really 
did  fervidly  consider  Faviel  a  waster.  A  man  who 
spent  his  time  wandering  about  unknown  countries, 
and  when  he  got  a  chance  of  making  money  for  him- 
self and  other  people — as  in  the  case  of  that  mine — 
chucked  it  away  for  a  silly  scruple.  Bah — the 
thought  of  it  sickened  Blenkenstein.  Life  was  too 

short  for  such  fooleries    and    such    fools And 

yet  this  fool  was  his  rival — and  a  formidable 
one.  He  was  conscious  of  not  having  made  much 
progress  in  the  last  fortnight.  But,  supposing  Faviel 
could  be  got  out  of  the  way  for  a  month,  even  at  the 
cost  of  ten  thousand  pounds,  the  balance  would  surely 
incline  to  him — Blenkenstein.  A  wooer  at  home  is 
worth  a  dozen  wooers  whose  whereabouts  are  totally 
unknown,  especially  if  the  latter  are  already  suspected 
of  instability.  The  wooer  at  home,  moreover,  has 
every  chance  of  justifying  to  the  lady  the  suspicions 
she  already  entertains  of  the  absent  rival. 

That  was  why  he  had  urged  upon  the  Committee 
that  they  should  so  arrange  the  wager  that,  firstly, 
Faviel  should  start  at  once — within  the  hour — and 
that,  secondly,  the  whole  affair  should  be  treated  as 
confidential,  no  one  outside  the  Committee  being  ad- 


36     Mr.  Blenkenstein  Effects  a  Compromise 

mitted  to  know  of  it  until  it  was  decided  one  way  or 
the  other. 

Faviel  had  stood  out  against  both  these  suggestions, 
but  the  latter  had  been  decided  by  the  Committee  in 
Blenkenstein's  favor.  None  of  the  men  present 
guessed  all  that  lay  behind  the  wager,  and  no  doubt 
they  had  thought  it  simpler  to  keep  the  matter  to  them- 
selves. Faviel  clearly  could  not  explain  to  them  ex- 
actly why  he  would  rather  the  thing  were  not  kept  a 
secret;  or  thought  he  could  not  explain;  or  didn't 
think  it  out  at  all.  Blenkenstein  had  reckoned  on 
winning  this  point,  and  he  had  reckoned  right. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  framers  of  the  rules  had 
decided  that  Faviel  was  entitled  to  some  delay,  and 
Blenkenstein,  in  his  turn,  could  not  very  easily  explain 
why  he  was  in  such  a  hurry  for  Faviel  to  disappear. 
It  was  arranged  finally  that  he  should  disappear  at 
ten  o'clock  the  night  following,  and  be  given  a  two 
hours'  start.  In  other  words,  he  was  due  to  vanish 
at  ten  to-night,  and  not  to  have  the  chase  begun  after 
him  until  twelve. 

It  meant  on  the  one  hand  that  he  would  be  at  the 
Mallendons' — see  Judith — possibly  propose  to  her :  on 
the  other,  that  he  would  have  every  opportunity  of 
getting  away.  Boke  even  now  was  suggesting  that 
every  minute's  start  made  an  almost  vital  difference 
to  the  chances. 

A  sense  of  having  been  unjustly  treated  by  the 
arbiters  of  the  wager  began  to  overcome  Blenkenstein. 
He  wanted  to  behave  in  a  sportsmanlike  way;  he  ad- 
mired the  sporting  spirit  outside  business  matters.  He 
would  have  been  willing  to  lose  that  very  considerable 
sum — ten  thousand  pounds — to  Faviel,  a  man  who 
had,  by  the  way,  insulted  him.  But  he  was  not  pre- 


Mr.  Blenkenstein  Effects  a  Compromise     37 

pared  to  lose  both  the  money  and  Judith  Mallendon 
to  the  fellow.  Sportsmanship  was  all  very  well, 
but 

"  Every  minute,  sir,  I  might  say,  is  a  day  to  the 
other  gentleman,"  Boke  was  saying  again. 

"  Wait  a  bit,"  said  Blenkenstein,  collecting  his  facul- 
ties; "  he  hasn't  started  yet,  you  know." 

"  That's  a  pity  for  the  gentleman,"  said  Mr.  Boke, 
rubbing  his  hands. 

"  And  I  happen  to  know  he  won't  attempt  it  till  ten 
to-night.  What's  more  " — Blenkenstein  wore  an  air 
of  supreme  magnanimity — "  it's  a  sporting  matter,  as 
I've  said,  and  I  want  to  give  him  a  start." 

"I  see,  sir." 

"  At  least,"  Blenkenstein  corrected  himself,  "  I'd 
like  to  if  we  can  afford  it."  A  plan  had  just  come  into 
his  head.  If  he  could  ascertain  that  Faviel  had  not 
advantaged  himself  by  going  to  the  Mallendons,  in 
that  case  he  could  afford  to  observe  the  spirit  of  the 
rules — what  some  people  would  call  the  letter  of  them 
— and  let  him  have  the  two  hours'  start.  Boke  could 
be  on  the  watch,  somewhere  outside  the  Mallendons' 
house;  and  a  signal  showing  him  how  to  proceed  could 
easily  be  agreed  on.  If  he  could  not  ascertain  how  far 
Faviel  had  succeeded  with  Judith,  Boke  would  have  to 
follow  at  once.  But — and  here  an  inspiration  came  to 
Blenkenstein — in  that  case  he  must  not  allow  Boke  to 
arrest  Faviel  and  present  the  letter  which  the  Court 
had  adjudicated  was  to  be  the  test  of  Faviel's  having 
lost  the  wager.  Faviel  must  be  encouraged  to  disap- 
pear, or  rather  to  imagine  that  he  had  disappeared, 
while  in  reality  all  the  time  Boke  would  be  keeping  an 
eye  on  him.  Thus  he  would  be  out  of  the  way  and 
yet  supervised. 


38     Mr.  Blenkenstein  Effects  a  Compromise 

An  hour  later  Mr.  Boke,  with  alternative  instruc- 
tions fully  jotted  down  in  his  fat  notebook,  withdrew 
thoughtfully  from  Mr.  Blenkenstein's  room.  Blenken- 
stein had  not  explained  precisely  what  the  terms  of 
the  wager  were ;  he  did  not  believe  in  being  over-con- 
fidential. But  he  had  impressed  upon  Mr.  Boke  that 
he  was  absolutely  decided  to  act  in  the  matter  in  the 
most  sportsmanlike  way  in  the  world. 

"  Always  remembering,  of  course,  Boke,  that  it  is 
we  who  are  going  to  win  this  wager." 

"  Quite  so,  sir,  exactly,"  Mr.  Boke  had  said,  ad- 
miringly, with  his  hand  on  the  door.  Once  he  had 
closed  the  door,  Mr.  Boke  winked,  slowly  and  disre- 
spectfully, at  the  vacant  corridor,  before  proceeding 
down  it  towards  the  inquiry  office  and  exit. 

The  youth  still  sat  in  the  glass  box  in  which  Mr. 
Boke's  personality  had  first  been  revealed  to  him. 

"  Any  more  sprouted  since  I  see  you?  "  queried  Mr. 
Boke,  as  he  passed  by.  "  Not?  Lay  you  two  to  one 
you'll  grow  another  before  you're  a  year  older.  Won't 
take  it?  Why,  a  lad  with  boots  as  tight  and  shiny  as 
yours  ought  to  be  more  of  a  sportsman;  still  it  ain't  to 
be  wondered  at,"  continued  Mr.  Boke,  as  he  passed  out 
of  the 'youth's  hearing  into  the  thronged  and  noisy 
street,  "  sportsmen  and  Mr.  B.  wouldn't  somehow 
fancy  working  in  the  same  office." 


CHAPTER  VI 
LADY  MALLENDON'S  AT  HOME 

"  HULLO,  Sir  J. !  " 

"  Eh,  what?    Jim!    What  are  you  doing  here?  " 

Sir  Jasper  Mallendon,  who  had  just  come  down 
into  the  hall  preparatory  to  receiving  his  guests  on  the 
night  of  his  wife's  At  Home,  looked,  as  indeed  he  was, 
decidedly  astonished  to  see  his  son  and  heir,  whom  he 
supposed  to  be  at  school  some  forty  miles  away,  stand- 
ing there  in  a  well-cut  dinner-jacket,  and  nonchalantly 
smoking  a  cigarette. 

"  I  thought  you  were  at  Rapley,"  continued  Sir 
Jasper  in  a  voice  that  he  tried  to  make  indicative  of 
displeasure,  tugging  at  his  tie  the  while.  "  Gug,  gug, 
confound  this  tie!  What's  the  meaning  of  it?  " 

Master  Jimmy  waved  a  hand  at  his  father. 

"  I  thought  I'd  taught  you  how  to  tie  'em  by  now," 
he  said.  "  Otherwise  I'd  have  come  in  and  done  it  for 
you.  You  didn't  roll  on  it  before  you  roped  it  round, 
did  you?"  • 

"  No,  of  course  not,"  said  Sir  Jasper,  abashed  by 
this  counter-attack  upon  an  article  of  clothing  which 
always  remained  a  source  of  irritation  to  him,  and 
surrendering  himself  meekly  to  his  son's  nimble  fin- 
gers: "  Something  wrong  with  the  make,  I  fancy." 

"  Rats,"  said  Jimmy.  "  You  won't  take  the  trouble 
to  learn  how  to  do  'em,  you  know.  That's  what  it  is. 
There!  It's  hardly  decent,  but  I  suppose  it'll  do. 

39 


40  Lady  Mallendon's  At  Home 

Glad  mater's  all  right  again.  Of  course  I  came  up 
as  soon  as  I  got  her  letter,  though  Latters  had  the 
cheek  to  suggest  it  was  a  do,  and  wanted  to  make  me 
promise  to  come  back  to-night.  As  though  I  could 
leave  you  two  to  get  through  this  hop  alone."  Jimmy 
completed  this  offhand  account  of  the  reasons  which 
had  brought  him  up  to  Town  with  a  prodigious  wink. 

"  I've  a  good  mind  to  send  you,"  said  Sir  Jasper 
weakly.  "  You  oughtn't  to  do  it,  Jimmy.  Your 
mother  only  had  a  headache " 

"  Well,  she  wrote,"  said  Jimmy. 

"  You  asked  her  to,  I  expect,"  said  Sir  Jasper. 

"  Never  mind,"  said  Jimmy.  "  I  shall  go  up  to- 
morrow morning.  It's  only  French  that  I  shall  miss, 
and  you  know  you  never  went  in  for  that  much  your- 
self." 

"  I  regret  now  that  I  didn't." 

"  You  wouldn't  be  an  ounce  the  better  for  it,"  said 
Jimmy  consolingly.  "  So  it's  no  good  worrying. 
What  sort  of  a  lot  are  we  having  to-night?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Sir  Jasper,  without  much 
animation.  His  wife's  At  Homes  were  usually  some- 
thing of  a  trial  to  him. 

Lady  Mallendon  was  a  follower  of  what  might  be 
called  the  intellectual  fashions.  When  Faviel  had  first 
made  her  acquaintance,  some  years  back,  on  his  return 
to  England  from  an  expedition,  which,  for  a  young 
man,  was  creditable  and  in  its  way  unique,  she  had  been 
a  patroness  of  travelers  and  traveling.  Explorers 
from  the  frozen  north  melted  in  Kidgrave  Square  and 
related  adventures  with  Esquimaux  dogs  and  Polar 
bears:  Central  African  missionaries  told  of  their  ex- 
perience with  lions  and  cannibals,  and  felt  glad  to  be 
alive,  still  in  the  sunshine  of  Lady  Mallendon's  smile. 


Lady  Mallendon's  At  Home  41 

Since  then,  however,  the  glass  of  fashion  had  been 
turned  more  than  once.  Art  had  had  its  day  in  Kid- 
grave  Square;  and  so  had  music.  Indeed,  some  of  the 
very  earliest  English  instruments  had  been  re-intro- 
duced in  Lady  Mallendon's  house,  and,  but  for  Sir 
Jasper's  unaccountable  distaste  for  music  (developed 
after  an  attack  of  influenza),  the  lute  and  the  harpsi- 
chord and  the  spinet  might  still  have  been  heard  there. 
As  a  rule,  Sir  Jasper  never  interfered  with  his  lady's 
hobbies.  In  the  City  a  solid  pillar  of  shipping,  our 
greatest  industry,  he  was  at  home  simply  Lady  Mal- 
lendon's admirer.  She  could  do  no  wrong,  or,  at  any 
rate,  none — with  the  exception  of  playing  the  spinet — 
that  Sir  Jasper  had  the  heart  to  interfere  with.  If  he 
was  not  always  interested  in  her  enthusiasms  he  was 
almost  always  capable  of  enduring  them.  At  times  he 
would  fly  to  his  library  and  read  through  Horace's 
epistles,  or  take  amateur  photographs,  but  generally  he 
could  preserve  his  equanimity  without  artificial  aid. 

It  was,  however,  a  little  threatened  to-night. 
Though  finance,  in  the  person  of  Blenkenstein,  prom- 
ised to  be  Lady  Mallendon's  next  hobby,  sociology  in 
its  larger  aspects  and  literature  were  the  immediate 
attractions.  Miss  Robina  Finch,  for  example,  a 
poetess  whom  Lady  Mallendon  was  housing  while  she 
learned  to  fly,  and  of  whom  much  was  expected  (by 
Lady  Mallendon)  in  the  dramatic  line,  was  to  give 
recitations  from  her  as  yet  unpublished  works;  and 
an  old  gentleman,  who  had  studied  with  Karl  Marx, 
had  been  invited  to  recount  his  reminiscences  of  that 
great  reformer,  in  so  far  as  an  imperfect  acquaint- 
ance with  the  English  language  would  permit  him.  Sir 
Jasper  prepared  himself  to  be  stoical  accordingly. 
There  was  need  of  it. 


42  Lady  Mallendon's  At  Home 

He  could  not  go  off  and  fortify  himself  with  ices,  as 
Jimmy  had  done.  He  had  to  play  the  host.  Wild- 
eyed  men,  who,  if  they  had  approached  his  office, 
would  instantly  have  been  warned  of  the  proximity  of 
the  police,  explained  to  him  familiarly,  and  at  length, 
why  he  ought  to  be  an  anarchist.  Ladies,  whose 
coiffures  might  be  artistic,  but  suggested  that  they  had 
traveled  to  Kidgrave  Square  on  the  back  of  a  broom- 
stick rather  than  in  a  cab  or  even  an  omnibus,  com- 
miserated him  in  a  patronizing  way  upon  his  admitted 
ignorance  of  the  works  of  M.  Maeterlinck.  In  spite 
of  every  precaution,  and  an  innate  sense  of  the  duties 
of  hospitality,  Sir  Jasper  was  becoming  a  little  gruff 
and  irritable,  when  Lady  Mallendon,  in  an  innocent 
manner,  and  apparently  quite  incidentally,  as  she  was 
passing  him,  said : — 

"  There's  Mr.  Faviel.  Why  don't  you  take  him  off, 
Jasper,  to  have  some  refreshment.  You  know  you 
enjoy  talking  to  him " 

"  Yes,  my  dear,  I  do,"  said  Sir  Jasper,  and  acted 
upon  the  hint. 

It  was  in  this  way  it  came  about  that  Faviel,  who 
thought  that  he  had  at  last  seen  an  opportunity  of 
approaching  Miss  Mallendon,  from  whom,  by  some 
conspiracy  of  fate,  he  had  been  so  far  sundered,  was 
intercepted.  He  was  actually  hurrying  across  the 
room  to  where  she  sat  on  a  sofa,  a  little  battered  by 
the  guttural  confidences  of  Karl  Marx's  fellow-student, 
an  ancient,  ancient  gentleman,  whose  lungs  and  ad- 
miration for  lovely  maidens  were,  however,  still 
strong,  and  was  caught  midway. 

"  Glad  to  see  you,"  said  Sir  Jasper.  "  Confoundedly 
glad  to  see  you.  First  sensible  man  I've  come  across 
to-night.  I  say — Oh,  Lord !  " 


Lady  Mallendon's  At  Home  43 

A  lull  at  the  far  end  of  the  room  (during  which 
Faviel,  to  his  annoyance,  saw  Judith  rise  and  be 
snapped  up  by  a  couple  of  shock-headed  men — obvi- 
ously revolutionists  of  a  deep  dye),  followed  by  the 
mounting  upon  a  temporary  platform  of  a  small  but 
plump  lady,  whose  self-possession  in  striking  an  atti- 
tude of  wild  and  sudden  woe  was  admirable  in  the 
extreme — accounted  for  Sir  Jasper's  exclamation. 

"  It's  Miss  Finch.  She's  going  to  recite,"  said  Sir 
Jasper.  "  I  say,  Faviel,  you  don't  want  to  stop  and 
listen.  Eh,  what?  A  glass  of  champagne,  better, 
eh?" 

Miss  Finch  had  just  announced — "  Geraniums,  a 
Poem  to  my  soldier  lad ; "  and  straightway  began,  in 
a  piping  voice — 

"  Geraniums  !    Geraniums  ! 
Scarlet  coats  and  the  noise  of  drums ! " 

"A  glass  of  champagne,  better,  eh?"  repeated  Sir 
Jasper  in  a  fruity  whisper,  and  led  his  victim  from  the 
room.  A  clock  in  the  hall  signified  that  the  hour  was 
already  10.25  P.M. 


CHAPTER  VII 

MR.    BLENKENSTEIN    GIVES   THE    SIGNAL 

REFERENCE  has  been  made  to  the  fact  that  Lady 
Mallendon  prompted  Sir  Jasper  to  cut  off  Flaviel  while 
on  his  way  to  Judith's  side — in  an  apparently  innocent 
manner.  In  reality,  Lady  Mallendon  was  feeling  all 
the  guilt  and  self -consciousness  of  a  conspirator  for 
the  first  time  in  her  life.  Besides  all  the  duties  of 
hostess,  involving  perpetual  introducings,  inspiritings 
of  Miss  Finch — who  had  threatened  once  or  twice  to 
lose  her  nerve  before  the  time  of  her  recitations  ar- 
rived— and  petitionings  of  Herr  Muster  not  to  talk 
himself  hoarse  before  his  turn  should  come  to  talk  of 
Karl  Marx,  Lady  Mallendon  had  taken  it  upon  herself 
to  prevent  Faviel  from  having  a  tete-a-tete  with  her 
niece  during  the  course  of  the  evening.  There  was 
no  conspiracy  in  the  proper  sense  of  the  word,  because 
the  only  conspirator — so  to  say — was  Lady  Mallendon. 
But  as  Lady  Mallendon's  ordinary  self  was  as  devoid 
of  plottings  as  a  bird  or  a  lamb,  the  consciousness  of 
having  started  to  circumvent  somebody  made  her  feel 
quite  sinister,  besides  giving  her  a  headache. 

She  hoped  that  she  was  doing  right,  and  assured 
herself  at  intervals  that  she  was  conspiring  against 
Mr.  Faviel  for  no  personal  reasons.  This  was  true. 
At  no  time  would  her  resentment  at  such  a  matter  as 
Faviel's  behavior  in  the  Academy  have  lasted  for  very 
long;  she  had,  indeed,  quite  got  over  it,  greeting  him 

44 


Mr.  Blenkenstein  Gives  the  Signal      45 

most  warmly,  somewhat  to  Faviel's  own  surprise,  and 
being  delighted  to  meet  his  friend,  Mr.  Wilton,  of 
whom  she  had  so  often  heard.  She  had,  moreover, 
readily  agreed  to  a  proposal  that  Faviel  made  to  her 
— apropos  of  a  charity  entertainment  that  she  was 
getting  up  later  on — when  they  should  be  in  their  coun- 
try house,  The  Ashlands,  that  she  should  invite  a  very 
clever  Chinese  juggler  of  Faviel's  acquaintance — at 
present  in  England  looking  for  work — to  go  down 
and  exhibit  his  tricks. 

Lady  Mallendon  said  that  she  would  be  delighted  to 
employ  Mr.  Chy  Fang,  and  only  just  pulled  herself 
up  in  time  from  suggesting  that  Mr.  Faviel  should 
take  part  in  the  play  at  present  being  written  by  Miss 
Finch,  which  was  to  form  the  staple  of  the  Ashlands 
fete.  Why  Lady  Mallendon  behaved  in  so  friendly  a 
way,  why  also  she  refrained  from  the  invitation  and 
proceeded  with  the  conspiracy  on  a  night  fraught  with 
events  of  an  importance  unknown  to  her — these  things 
were  all  to  be  explained  on  the  same  ground. 

Blenkenstein  had  hinted  plainly  a  day  or  two  before 
that  Faviel  was  a  competitor  for  Judith's  hand.  Lady 
Mallendon  could  forgive  Mr.  Faviel  for  having  be- 
haved so  rudely,  but  she  could  not  encourage  him  in 
an  expectation  which  explained  to  some  extent  the 
rudeness.  No,  not  for  one  moment  could  Lady  Mal- 
lendon allow  Mr.  Faviel  to  suppose  that  her  niece  was 
to  be  sacrificed  to  a  comparatively  poor  young  man, 
without  any  settled  profession,  and  with  still  less  set- 
tled ambitions.  As  Judith's  aunt  she  felt  her  duty 
plain. 

Inasmuch,  however,  as  feeling  one's  duty  plain  does 
not  necessarily  facilitate  other  people's  seeing  it  with 
an  equally  lucid  eye,  or,  in  other  words,  since  it  isn't 


46      Mr.  Blenkenstein  Gives  the  Signal 

always  easy  to  explain  your  own  point  of  view  to 
other  people,  Lady  Mallendon  had  come  to  the  con- 
clusion that  the  simplest  way  out  of  the  difficulty  was 
to  drop  Mr.  Faviel  for  the  time  being,  but  drop  him 
after  so  kindly  and  so  effusive  a  welcome  to-night  that 
his  feelings  could  not  possibly  be  hurt.  Lady  Mal- 
lendon phrased  the  conspiracy  to  herself  as  "  the  truest 
kindness." 

The  only  difficulty  was  to  make  sure  that  Mr.  Faviel, 
unaware  of  the  benevolent  plot  raised  against  him, 
should  not  by  some  unexpected  move  make  that  plot 
of  no  avail;  and  it  was  a  difficulty  complicated  by  the 
fact  that  Lady  Mallendon  was,  in  her  turn,  unaware 
of  the  wager  between  Faviel  and  Blenkenstein.  Had 
Faviel  regarded  the  evening  as  a  normal  one,  which 
might  be  renewed  or  supplemented  at  no  great  interval, 
he  might  have  consented  to  be  put  off  for  the  time 
being  by  the  series  of  mischances  which  seemed 
to  arise  whenever  he  tried  to  approach  Miss  Mal- 
lendon. 

As  it  happened,  of  course,  the  evening  represented 
for  Faviel  his  one  opportunity  for  at  any  rate  the  next 
month.  He  escaped  from  Sir  Jasper  at  10:50,  and 
ran  into  Jimmy  Mallendon  at  10.51.  There  was  a 
frown  upon  Jimmy's  face. 

"  Anything  wrong?  "  asked  Faviel,  who  was  one  of 
Jimmy's  friends. 

"  No,"  said  Jimmy. 

"Have  you  seen  your  cousin  about  anywhere?" 
asked  Faviel. 

"  Judy  ?  "  said  Jimmy.  "  Yes,  I  have.  She's  with 
a  beast  named  Blenkenstein.  Do  you  " — Jimmy's  face 
suddenly  brightened — "  I  say,  do  you  happen  to  want 
to  see  Judy  badly,  Mr.  Faviel  ?  " 


Mr.  Blenkenstein  Gives  the  Signal       47 

Faviel  admitted  that  he  did. 

"  Very  well,"  said  Jimmy.  "  If  you'll  stick  here  for 
a  couple  of  mo's,  I'll  detach  the  beast.  He's  in  the 
conservatory  with  her." 

Blenkenstein  had  been  in  the  conservatory  with  Ju- 
dith for  some  minutes  past.  Lady  Mallendon  had 
contrived  that  it  should  be  so.  People  were  going 
down  to  supper,  she  said,  but  if  Mr.  Blenkenstein  did 
not  mind  waiting  a  little,  there  would  be  more  room 
a  little  later.  Perhaps  he  could  entertain  her  niece 
for  a  little.  Mr.  Blenkenstein  thought  that  he  could. 
He  had  not  reckoned  with  Jimmy;  and  when  Jimmy 
had  sauntered  into  the  conservatory,  some  few  minutes 
before  Faviel  had  escaped  from  Sir  Jasper  and  met 
him,  Blenkenstein  had  committed  a  grave  error,  in 
this  way. 

Jimmy  had  entered  the  conservatory  feeling  a  little 
dull.  He  had  anticipated  supper  two  or  three  times 
already,  and  he  had  tired  of  inciting  various  socialistic 
ladies  to  give  their  views  on  our  English  schools, 
which  Jimmy  had  modestly  admitted  to  be  in  a  bad 
state.  There  was  a  sort  of  monotony  about  their  gag, 
Jimmy  thought;  and  very  few  of  them  were  pretty. 
Therefore,  Jimmy,  happening  upon  his  cousin  Judith, 
of  whom  he  thought  highly,  and  upon  a  man,  who  at 
any  rate  did  not  look  like  a  professor,  was  rather 
pleased;  having  shaken  hands  with  Blenkenstein, 
whom  he  had  not  seen  before,  and  made  a  preliminary 
statement  about  the  quality  of  the  coffee-ices,  he  set- 
tled himself  down  in  a  chair  for  a  chat. 

"  What  do  you  think  about  the  Australians  this 
year?"  he  inquired  of  Blenkenstein. 

The  position  of  tertium  quid  never  caused  Jimmy 
any  uneasiness.  Conscious  that  he  was  well  able  to 


48      Mr.  Blenkenstein  Gives  the  Signal 

bear  a  part  in  any  reasonable  conversation,  he  felt 
comfortable  wherever  he  was. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know,"  said  Blenkenstein  curtly.  He 
did  not  understand  Jimmy's  feelings,  and  he  objected 
to  his  presence.  Jimmy  opened  his  eyes  a  little  at  the 
tone,  but  continued  courteously. 

"If  Trumper  was  in  anything  like  the  form 
that " 

"  Look  here,  young  man,"  said  Blenkenstein  im- 
patiently, "  hadn't  you  better  run  away  just  now  and 
talk  to  some  of  the  others?  " 

Jimmy  opened  his  eyes  wide,  and  a  rich  blush 
mounted  to  his  cheeks. 

"  What  did  you  say?  "  he  asked  slowly. 

"  I  said,"  repeated  Blenkenstein  rashly,  "  hadn't 
you  better  run  away  just  now.  Bit  of  a  nuisance,  you 
know.  Your  cousin  and  I " 

"  Mr.  Blenkenstein  doesn't  mean "  Judith  be- 
gan in  awful  distress. 

But  Jimmy  was  not  to  be  appeased. 

"  I  see,"  he  said,  "  thank  you.  Don't  let  me  disturb 
you."  He  rose,  still  very  red,  and,  with  an  affectation 
of  nonchalance  that  must  almost  have  hurt,  walked 
away. 

"  Bit  spoilt,  I  should  think,  that  young  cousin  of 
yours,"  said  Blenkenstein  to  Judith  with  a  laugh. 

"  Yes,"  she  said  briefly.  She  wondered  what  Jimmy 
would  do. 

The  first  thing  that  Jimmy  did,  as  has  been  shown, 
was,  as  it  happened,  to  meet  Faviel.  The  second  was 
to  hurry  to  the  library,  which  was  not  being  used  that 
night. 

A  few  minutes  later  a  waiter  bustled  into  the  con- 
servatory, and  handed  Blenkenstein  a  note — 


Mr.  Blenkenstein  Gives  the  Signal      49 

"  Waiting  for  an  answer,  sir,"  he  said. 
"  You'd  better  read  it,"  said  Judith. 
Blenkenstein  ran  his  eye  over  it  hurriedly.    The  note 
was  short  and  sensational. 

"  Hurried  here.  Can  you  see  me  for  minute  in 
library?  Most  important." 

The  signature  was  illegible;  the  spelling  and  hand- 
writing poor.  Blenkenstein,  having  Mr.  Boke  upon 
his  mind,  jumped  to  the  conclusion  that  it  was  a  com- 
munication from  that  gentleman.  "  I  suppose  I  must 
see  the  man,  whoever  he  is.  If  you'll  excuse  me," 
he  said  to  Judith.  She  nodded,  seeing  Jimmy  in  the 
note,  but  knowing  that  equity  demanded  she  should 
not  interfere  between  him  and  his  insulter. 

That  was  like  Judith.  She  had  an  extraordinary 
sense  of  equity  which  she  would  rather  see  prevail 
than  her  own  personal  wishes.  Just  now,  for  ex- 
ample, she  wished  that  Mr.  Blenkenstein  could  escape, 
for  she  could  not  believe  that  he  had  meant  to  hurt 
Jimmy's  feelings.  She  felt  sure  he  had  only  done  so 
because  he  did  not  quite  understand  boys — boys  like 
Jimmy.  Probably  he  was  too  taken  up  with  affairs — 
important  things — to  know  how  boys  feel.  Perhaps 
all  great  men  were  like  that.  She  did  not  blame  them 
if  they  were.  Certainly  she  did  not  blame  Mr.  Blen- 
kenstein, or  judge  him,  and  she  was  sorry  Jimmy  was 
going  to  be  revengeful.  Only  of  course  it  would  not 
be  right  to  warn  Mr.  Blenkenstein  against  him.  That 
would  be  taking  sides,  failing,  as  it  were,  to  play  the 
game  of  justice. 

"  I  shan't  be  a  minute,"  Blenkenstein  had  said,  as  he 
walked  away. 


jjo      Mr.  Blenkenstein  Gives  the  Signal 

It  took  him  just  precisely  that  period  to  walk  to  Sir 
Jasper's  library,  enter,  and  fall  a  victim  to  that  most 
ancient  device — the  booby-trap,  composed  in  this 
instance  of  a  solution  of  coffee-ice  and  champagne  cup, 
which  damped  his  head  and  mottled  his  shirt  front  in 
a  singularly  aggravating  way. 

"Damnation!"  said  Mr.  Blenkenstein.  "It's  that 
cursed  boy.  I'd " 

Before  he  could  voice  the  sentiment  concerning 
Jimmy  that  arose  in  his  breast,  the  voice  of  Jimmy 
himself  was  audible  in  the  hall. 

"  Judy's  in  the  conservatory,  Mr.  Faviel,  if  you 
want  her.  She  was  with  Mr.  Blenkenstein  a  minute 
ago,  but  he  went  off  to  get  some  supper." 

Blenkenstein  made  a  step  for  the  door,  and  stopped. 
His  appearance  was  too  utterly  against  him.  He 
waited  where  he  was  for  a  minute  or  two;  then  strode 
to  where  he  had  left  his  hat  and  coat,  and  asked  for 
them  sullenly. 

"  No,  I  don't  want  a  cab,"  he  said,  and  walked  out. 

He  hardly  considered,  in  his  wrath,  the  arrange- 
ment he  had  made  with  Boke,  namely,  that  if  he  left 
on  foot  before  midnight,  Boke  was  to  follow  Faviel 
and  secure  him  at  the  earliest  opportunity. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

MR.   FAVIEL  DISAPPEARS 

IT  was  quarter  of  an  hour  before  midnight.  A 
moon  hung  over  London,  a  summer  moon ;  so  brimful 
of  silver  that  the  streets  and  houses  were  flooded  with 
its  drippings.  Silver  policemen  walked  up  and  down 
their  beat;  and  silver  cabs  jingled  merrily  to  and  fro. 
Round  a  corner  into  the  Strand  a  silver  omnibus 
lurched,  just  as  Mr.  Wilton,  himself  a  silver  object, 
turned  into  that  thoroughfare. 

He  was  not  concerned  with  the  beauty  of  the  night 
at  all.  His  eyes  were  partly  for  the  figure  of  a  man 
walking  some  fifty  yards  ahead  of  him  on  the  other 
side  of  the  road;  partly  for  the  figures  of  three  men 
walking  at  a  less  interval  in  front  and  on  the  same  side. 
The  solitary  figure  was  Faviel;  who  the  three  men 
were,  Mr.  Wilton  was  anxious  to  find  out.  He  was 
following  for  that  purpose. 

When  he  had  succeeded  at  last  in  inducing  Faviel 
to  bestow  some  attention  upon  the  time — and  he  would 
never  have  succeeded  but  that  he  and  Lady  Mallendon 
had  at  one  and  the  same  moment  penetrated  into  the 
conservatory  where  Faviel  was  sitting  with  Miss  Mal- 
lendon— Mr.  Wilton  had  no  intention  of  following  his 
friend.  His  one  anxiety  had  been  to  get  him  to  start. 
Once  free  from  the  fatal  fascinations  of  Miss  Mal- 
lendon, he  would,  Mr.  Wilton  felt  sure,  recover  his 
natural  ingenuity,  and  give  Blenkenstein  the  slip.  The 

51 


52  Mr.  Faviel  Disappears 

start  was  the  one  thing  necessary ;  and  to  follow  would 
be  futile  in  the  extreme.  Yet  at  1 1 145  Wilton  was 
following. 

What  had  changed  his  opinion  was  something  that 
had  happened  almost  immediately  after  Dick's  de- 
parture in  a  cab.  Wilton  had  accompanied  him  to  the 
door,  merely  that  he  might  see  him  actually  away.  He 
had  lingered  to  see  the  cab  actually  in  motion;  then 
just  as  he  was  turning  into  the  house,  he  noticed  an- 
other cab  signaled  to,  some  way  down  the  street, — 
and,  after  the  three  persons  engaging  it  had  got  in, 
he  saw  it  pursuing  the  other  cab.  If  it  was  pursuit ! 
The  notion  was  the  weakest  suspicion,  but  it  so  worked 
upon  Mr.  Wilton  that  he  stopped  only  to  get  his  things, 
and  took  a  third  cab. 

Faviel  had  given  the  address  of  his  rooms.  Wilton 
gave  the  next  street.  Getting  out  there,  he  had  waited 
on  the  curb  with  the  tail  of  his  eye  on  Faviel's  rooms, 
till  Faviel  issued,  his  clothes  changed;  but  whether  in 
his  right  mind  it  was  not  easy  to  say,  for,  having 
twenty-five  minutes  at  the  outside  in  which  to  disap- 
pear, he  had  begun  walking  leisurely  eastward. 

Wilton,  following  more  in  the  hope  of  allaying  his 
suspicions  than  confirming  them,  had  spied  the  three 
men  just  before  Faviel  turned  into  the  Strand.  Faviel 
had  quickened  his  pace.  He  was  making  for  one  of 
the  big  stations  evidently.  So  were  the  men,  who  had 
also  quickened.  Because  they  were  three  in  number, 
Mr.  Wilton  was  sure  they  were  the  three  who  had 
hailed  the  cab. 

At  two  minutes  to  twelve  precisely  Mr.  Wilton,  hav- 
ing at  the  very  last  instant  rushed  the  guard  at  the 
barrier,  flung  himself  into  a  train  moving  north.  In 
that  train  Faviel  was  also  seated,  as  were  the  three 


Mr.  Faviel  Disappears  53 

men.  So,  unknown  to  Mr.  Wilton,  was  a  man  he  had 
met  the  other  night  at  O'Levin's,  Mr.  Maxhaven,  of 
Philadelphia. 

It  was  this  last  fact — due  to  the  mere  accident  of 
Mr.  Maxhaven,  having  accepted  an  invitation  to  a 
country  house  situate  upon  that  railroad,  and  having 
moreover,  owing  to  the  temptations  of  an  opera,  missed 
the  train  which  would  have  got  him  to  his  destination 
at  a  more  seemly  hour,  deciding  to  go  anyway  when 
he  found  that  there  was  another  train — it  was  this 
merely  incidental  occurrence  which  was  unexpectedly 
to  ruin  the  schemes  of  both  Mr.  Wilton  and  the  three 
men  who  were  in  effect  Blenkenstein's  agents. 

For  it  happened  that  as  the  train  drew  up  at  Haleden 
Hoo,  a  small  wayside  station,  existing  for  the  sole 
purpose  of  making  life  easier  for  the  owner  of  the  big 
house  of  that  name  and  for  his  guests,  and  as  Mr. 
Maxhaven,  being  about  to  become  one  of  those  guests, 
descended  upon  the  platform,  Mr.  Faviel,  recognizing 
his  face,  and  regarding  it  as  a  good  omen,  also  de- 
scended. He  did  not  greet  Maxhaven,  rather  keeping 
himself  in  the  background,  and  the  latter,  having  as- 
certained the  nearest  way  to  the  house  from  the  som- 
nolent station-master,  walked  out  into  the  highway. 
Thereupon  Mr.  Faviel  also  presented  his  ticket. 

"  It's  for  Malton,"  said  the  station-master. 
"  You've  got  out  too  soon." 

"  It  doesn't  matter,"  said  Faviel,  and  passed 
through.  He  did  not  hurry  along  the  road,  but  waited 
again  until  he  had  overheard  the  conversation  between 
the  station-master  and  the  three  men,  who  had  also 
got  out.  It  seemed  their  tickets  were  also  for  Malton. 

"  I  wonder,"  said  Mr.  Faviel  to  himself,  "  where  old 
Tod  took  his  ticket  to.  He's  gone  on." 


54  Mr.  Faviel  Disappears 

There  Mr.  Faviel  was  wrong.  His  natural  powers 
of  observation,  coupled  with  a  very  strong  suspicion 
that  Blenkenstein  would  not  play  fair  if  it  served  his 
purpose,  had  enabled  him  to  place  the  three  men,  whose 
business  their  tickets  for  Malton  had  set  beyond  any 
doubt.  He  had  taken  it  for  granted  that  Tod  Wilton, 
who  had  been  worrying  all  day,  would  do  his  best  to 
see  him  safely  beyond  Blenkenstein's  reach,  and  had 
watched  him  scouting  along  the  Strand  with  glee.  But 
he  was  wrong  in  supposing  that  Tod  had  gone  on. 
Tod  had  not  got  out,  because  the  risk  of  revealing 
himself  to  the  three  men  was  too  great.  He  did  not 
know  what  the  risk  of  revealing  himself  amounted  to, 
nor  did  he  supply  himself  with  any  reasons  for  not 
revealing  himself.  The  primitive  instincts,  the  sensa- 
tion of  being  on  the  trail,  kept  him  in  hiding  until  the 
train  had  cleared  the  station  on  its  onward  journey  by 
some  twenty  yards.  At  that  point,  Mr.  Wilton,  pray- 
ing that  no  guard  would  observe  him,  and  thanking 
heaven  that  his  carriage  was  an  empty  one,  turned 
the  handle  of  the  door  and  dropped  out  into  the  night. 
He  was  conscious  almost  immediately  that  he  had 
fallen  into  a  bank  of  nettles.  Also,  that  the  train  had 
not  stopped. 

The  moon  was  gone,  but  a  glimmer  of  stars  gave 
a  suggestion  of  twilight,  whereby  Mr.  Wilton,  having 
watched  the  red  tail  of  the  train  swing  into  the  dis- 
tance and  picked  himself  up  gingerly,  was  enabled,  at 
the  cost  of  stung  hands  and  nose  to  find  a  gap  in  the 
hedge  and  creep  through  it.  The  other  side  of  the  gap, 
he  was  pleased  to  discover,  was  a  road,  and  it  was 
while  he  paused  there  to  try  and  make  up  his  mind 
with  regard  to  some  plan  that  should  put  him  in  touch 
either  with  Faviel  or  the  three  men,  that  the  sound  of 


Mr.  Faviel  Disappears  55 

steps  coming  towards  him  became  audible.  The  sound 
was  so  audible  through  the  silence  of  the  night  that 
Mr.  Wilton  had  scarcely  told  himself  that  these  were 
the  steps  of  a  man,  walking  along  leisurely,  when  he 
had  begun  to  tell  himself  that  in  the  rear  of  them  were 
the  steps  of  a  man  running — of  several  men  running. 
Was  it  Faviel  walking,  he  asked  himself,  with  the  three 
after  him?  He  ran  towards  the  sound,  as  he  asked  it, 
and  got  into  a  piece  of  road  darkened  by  overbranch- 
ing  trees.  As  he  got  there,  the  man  coming  towards 
him  pulled  up,  struck  evidently  by  the  same  sound  of 
running  as  Wilton  had  heard — only  nearer  now;  and 
pulling  up  was  cannoned  into  and  passed  by  one  of  the 
runners. 

"  Hell ! "  said  Mr.  Maxhaven,  for  it  was  he  who 
had  pulled  up  and  been  sent  staggering.  "  What  in 
the " 

His  words  were  interrupted  and  the  remainder  of 
his  breath  taken  from  him  by  two  other  men  who, 
coming  up,  had  closed  with  him  instantly. 

Mr.  Wilton,  past  whom  the  first  runner  had  slipped 
at  a  pace  there  was  no  stopping,  especially  by  a  man 
running  in  the  opposite  direction  in  a  deceitful  light, 
saw  the  three  go  down  in  a  struggling  pile,  while  a 
fourth — or  rather  a  fifth  man,  who  had  just  come  up 
— hovered  above  them,  calling  out  huskily — 

"  Stick  to  it,  Coppenwell !  Choke  'im,  Bilks.  Quiet 
does  it,  Mr.  Faviel,  quiet  does  it." 

"  Police !  "  yelled  Mr.  Wilton,  and  added  himself  to 
the  pile. 

He  was  not  aware  then,  or  for  several  moments 
after,  what  exactly  was  happening.  He  was  conscious 
of  exchanging  blows,  also  kicks  and  throat-shakings, 
with  several  antagonists  indiscriminately  on  a  hard 


56  Mr.  Faviel  Disappears 

road  the  dust  of  which  gritted  his  teeth.  Some  of  his 
antagonists  swore,  and  one  groaned.  Now  he  was  on 
the  top  of  a  large  number  of  people,  and  again  quite 
a  mob  of  people  was  on  the  top  of  him :  how  many  one 
could  not  count  because  of  the  darkness.  Heads  and 
waistcoats  and  hobnailed  boots  seemed  interchange- 
able quantities  for  quite  a  long  period  of  time — a 
painful  period  when  it  was  one's  own  head  and  some- 
body else's  boots,  a  delightful  period  when  it  was 
somebody  else's  waistcoat  and  one's  own  head.  Mr. 
Wilton  had  always  been  distinguished  for  his  materi- 
ally hard  head.  Finally,  when  breathings — both  his 
own  and  other  people's — were  becoming  hard  and  fast, 
Mr.  Wilton  heard  the  man  with  the  husky  voice  give 
tongue  to  some  exclamation — 

"  Damn  it !    He's  not  here.     Cut !  " 

Then  followed  an  untwisting  of  legs  and  arms  which 
Mr.  Wilton  tried  to  prevent  stubbornly  but  in  vain. 
They  would  unroll.  Thereafter  he  discovered  himself 
to  be  sitting  in  the  road  opposite  Mr.  Maxhaven  of 
Philadelphia,  whose  nose  bled  perceptibly. 

"  Hullo !  "  said  Mr.  Wilton,  in  utter  astonishment, 
"  I  thought  you  were  Dick  Faviel." 

"  My  name,"  said  the  American  coldly,  "  is  John 
Maxhaven.  I  should  like  to  know  who  you  are, 
sir " 

Tod  explained  excitedly. 

"  Those  men  were  employed  by  Blenkenstein.  They 
can't  have  allowed  fair  time,  for  the  train  started  two 
minutes  after  twelve." 

"  That's  truth,"  said  Mr.  Maxhaven;  "  but  how  do 
you  know  they  were  after  Faviel  ?  " 

"  I  heard  them — one  of  them — speak  of  '  Mr.  Fa- 
viel.' They  thought  you  were  he." 


Mr.  Faviel  Disappears  57 

"  I  wish  they  had  not,"  said  Mr.  Maxhaven  de- 
cidedly. 

"  And  they've  got  away,  confound  them,"  said  Mr. 
Wilton,  pursuing  his  own  train  of  thought. 

"  Well,"  said  Mr.  Maxhaven,  picking  himself  up 
with  a  noise  of  groaning,  "  so — as  far  as  that  is  any 
satisfaction  to  you,  sir — so,  I  guess,  has  Mr.  Faviel." 


CHAPTER  IX 


FEW  men  could  say  a  thing  more  impressively  than 
the  Rev.  Wilfrid  Amyas  Warley-Warley,  Rector  of 
Langston  Bucket ;  or  say  it  more  often  without  its 
losing  its  impressiveness.  Parishioners  found  this  in 
regard  to  his  sermons.  A  testimonial  to  the  fact  might 
have  been  gathered  by  any  one  who  had  chanced  to 
listen  to  a  conversation  carried  on  between  Mrs. 
Warley-Warley  and  old  Mr.  Mole — a  thatcher  and 
ditcher  when  the  spirit  moved  him — upon  the  morning 
immediately  following  the  night  of  Mr.  Faviel's  dis- 
appearance. 

"  I've  heer'd  Mr.  Warley  say  that  'bout  chewing 
being  come  like  straight  from  Satan  hisself  fifty  times, 
if  I've  heer'd  it  once,"  said  Mr.  Mole,  who  was  leaning 
upon  the  gate  leading  into  his  cottage  garden.  "  And 
if  I  did'n  know  as  Satan  had  me  anyways,  I'd  ha'  been 
terrified  to  giving  it  up  every  mortial  time." 

"  I  wish  you  would,  Mole,"  said  Mrs.  Warley,  who 
was  herself  the  reverse  of  impressive.  "  It's  a  very 
horrid  habit." 

Mr.  Mole  smiled  his  ancient  sly  cherubic  smile. 

"  That's  what  it  is— terr'bl  beastly.  Terr'bl.  Fifty 
times  I've  heard  Mr.  Warley  say  ut.  But  theer,  'tisn't 
as  if  he  ever  see  me  do  ut.  I've  talked  to  'un  a  quarter 
of  an  hour  on  end,  time  and  agen,  and  he've  never 
known  a'  the  while  as  I  was  a-doing  it." 

58 


Miss  Etta  Warley  is  Saved  from  Peril     59 

"  I  expect  he  did,"  said  the  rector's  wife  weakly. 

"  Not  he,"  said  Mr.  Mole.  "  'Cos  why?  I  had  ut 
in  me  gums.  This-a-way." 

Mrs.  Warley  closed  her  eyes,  as  Mr.  Mole  offered 
proof  of  his  assertions. 

"  Never  mind !  "  she  said,  "  we  won't  discuss  it  any 
further." 

The  subject  was  in  any  case  a  digression  from  the 
one  which  had  caused  Mrs.  Warley's  visit.  This  was 
the  conduct  of  Jem  Mole,  a  grandson  of  Mr.  Mole. 
Mr.  Mole  was  supposed  to  have  some  influence  over 
Jem. 

Mr.  Warley  had  no  influence  at  all,  with  the  result 
that  Jem,  who  had  been  employed  for  some  months  as 
odd  man  at  the  rectory,  had  so  persisted  in  his  ob- 
stinacy, more  particularly  in  refusing  to  distinguish 
between  lawns  and  flower-beds  when  intrusted  with  a 
scythe,  as  to  cause  Mr.  Warley — much  to  his  regret — 
to  give  him  notice.  He  had  left  yesterday  without  any 
show  of  repentance,  and  it  was  about  this  Mrs.  Warley 
had  come  to  talk. 

Mr.  Mole  had  safeguarded  himself  at  the  outset  by 
pretending  to  be  unaware  who  Jem  was,  of  the  many 
lads  in  the  village. 

"  I  dunno  'em,"  he  said,  with  patriarchal  non-* 
chalance.  "  They  call  me  grand-dad,  but  I  dunno  'em. 
There's  such  a  lot  of  'em.  I  don't  rekkernize  them." 

"  But  you  know  Jem  ?  " 

"  Which  will  he  be?  "  asked  Mr.  Mole. 

"  He's  a  big  lad,  with  whitish  hair.  I  thought," 
said  Mrs.  Warley,  a  little  disappointed,  "  that  you 
could  have  expostulated  with  him.  It's  very  incon- 
venient for  the  rector,  because  he  has  no  one  to  drive 
him,  and  Jem  made  rather  a  good  coachman." 


60     Miss  Etta  Warley  is  Saved  from  Peril 

"  Ah,  he  knows  about  hosses,  Jem  do,"  said  Mr. 
Mole,  with  an  inconsistent  pride.  "  But  gardening  he 
don't  somehow  keer  for,  '  puddling '  he  calls  it.  But 
if  you  was  wanting  him  back,  I  can  speak  to  him,"  he 
added  condescendingly. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know  that  the  rector  would  really  have 
him  back,"  said  Mrs.  Warley,  "  but  I'll  ask.  It  seems 
such  a  pity  that  a  strong  lad  like  that  should  be  out  of 
work." 

"  Ah,  it  be,"  said  Mr.  Mole,  who  had  got  past  the 
state  of  minding  it  for  himself.  "  Ye  have  to  d6't 
yerself  then,  which  isn't  right — not  for  a  par- 
son." 

Mrs.  Warley  returned  home,  feeling  that  she  had  at 
least  done  her  best  to  prevent  further  accidents  if  it 
should  please  Providence  to  bring  Amyas  safely  home 
that  day.  He  had  gone  out  with  Etta  and  Sir  Gawain. 
Etta  was  his  daughter;  Sir  Gawain  (so  named  by 
Miss  Etta,  who  loved  the  poems  of  Tennyson)  was  his 
horse,  a  young  and  lively  one.  Mole  had  managed  Sir 
Gawain  all  right.  He  knew  about  horses.  The  rector 
did  not. 

But  needs  must,  and  Mr.  Warley  was  not  one  in 
any  case  to  shun  a  duty,  such  as  was  this  drive  to 
Waybury,  a  little  town  nine  miles  off.  Every  one, 
down  to  the  cook,  had  been  turned  out  to  harness  Sir 
Gawain,  and,  as  a  result,  that  animal,  after  shying  at 
a  pig,  a  haystack,  and  a  wayside  heap  of  stones  re- 
spectively, had  gone  off  with  Mr.  Warley  and  Etta 
(who  was  accompanying  by  Mrs.  Warley 's  request  in 
case  anything  should  happen  and  a  doctor  be  required, 
when  two  would  be  better  than  one,  provided,  as  the 
rector  had  pointed  out  with  somber  gravity,  both 
should  not  have  been  injured  at  one  and  the  same  time) 


Miss  Etta  Warley  is  Saved  from  Peril     61 

— had  gone  off  at  a  straightforward,  if  somewht  rat- 
tling, pace. 

In  retrospect,  Mr.  Warley  was  convinced  that,  even 
allowing  for  the  disgraceful  speed  of  the  motor-car 
which  met  them  on  the  return  journey,  all  might  have 
been  well  had  Etta  only  refrained  from  asking  the 
ostler  at  Waybury  to  give  Sir  Gawain  a  feed.  He  did 
not  require  a  feed.  Up  to  Waybury  he  had  gone  fast 
but  with  a  certain  decorum.  From  Waybury,  on  the 
other  hand,  he  had  thrown  decorum  to  the  winds.  He 
had  gone  through  an  infant  school  at  the  far  end  of 
the  town  at  a  pace  which  made  Etta  feel  faint  and  Mr. 
Warley  fatalistic.  At  Gingly,  a  small  village,  he  scared 
an  old  parishioner  of  Mr.  Warley's,  who  had  come  out 
to  drop  a  courtesy.  Almost  before  Mr.  Warley  had 
framed  the  apology  which  he  would  have  liked  to  de- 
liver to  this  old  woman,  Sir  Gawain  was  at  Dingfield, 
taking  the  paint  off  the  wheel  of  a  cart  which  stood 
outside  "  The  Three  Squirrels,"  while  the  carter  re- 
freshed within. 

"  A  practice  which  should  be  made  penal,"  ob- 
served Mr.  Warley,  between  set  teeth,  as  Sir  Gawain 
flew  on. 

"  Drinking?  "  asked  Etta. 

"  Allowing  carts  to  stand  alone  on  the  highway. 
The  sooner  these  fellows  can  be  taught  that  an  equal 
right  to  the  road  is  the  privilege  of  every  one,  if " 

"  Oh,  couldn't  you  pull  him  in  a  little  ?  "  cried  Etta 
irrelevantly. 

"Why?" 

"  I  think  I  hear  a  motor-car  coming." 

"  Certainly,  my  dear,  certainly,"  said  Mr.  Warley; 
and  he  pulled  in,  so  far  as  lay  within  his  power. 

Sir  Gawain  had  ample  time,  nevertheless,  to  deter- 


62     Miss  Etta  Warley  is  Saved  from  Peril 

mine  that  the  advancing  car  was  not  to  be  treated  with 
equanimity.  He  stood  up  on  his  hind  legs,  as  it 
buzzed  up  hooting,  laid  his  ears  back  and  set  off  at 
a  gallop. 

This  was  beyond  Dingfield,  on  the  Waybury  road. 

Mr.  Faviel  debouched  upon  this  thoroughfare,  about 
a  mile  nearer  to  Langston  Bucket.  He  came  over  a 
stile,  and  observed  the  runaway  dogcart  at  a  distance 
of  some  hundred  yards,  coming  towards  him.  An 
elderly  clergyman  with  pink  cheeks  and  iron-gray  hair 
sat  back  in  the  driver's  seat,  tugging  feebly  at  the 
reins.  His  eyes  glared  like  a  fish's.  Next  him,  and 
clinging  to  the  hand-rail  of  the  dogcart  in  a  desperate 
manner,  sat  a  girl,  also  with  pink  cheeks,  but  with 
fluffy  fair  hair.  Her  eyes  were  shut.  Neither  was  in 
a  state  to  notice  Mr.  Faviel,  or  anything  else;  and  it 
was  only  after  he  had  responded  to  the  emergency 
and  brought  Sir  Gawain  to  a  halt  after  a  short  drag- 
ging run  that  they  became  aware  of  their  rescuer.  He 
was  standing  at  Sir  Gawain's  head,  soothing  the 
frightened  beast. 

Mr.  Warley  thereupon  spoke  up. 

"  That's  right !  hold  on  to  him,  my  man.  I — er — 
disgraceful !  " 

"  Trying  to  run  away,  sir  ?  " 

"  The  accident,"  said  Mr.  Warley,  with  dignity, 
"  was  due  to  one  of  those  Molochs  of  the  road.  I 
can  refer  to  them  under  no  other  name — er.  An 
automobile  in  fact.  If  I  were  in  Parliament — for  a 

couple  of  days What,  my  dear?  "  he  turned  his 

attention  to  Etta,  who  had  clutched  his  sleeve.  "  Feel- 
ing better?" 

"  We  ought,"  said  Etta  faintly,  "  to  feel  very  grate- 
ful to — to — this "  She  hardly  knew  what  to  call 


Miss  Etta  Warley  is  Saved  from  Peril    63 

him.  He  was  a  very  nice-looking  young  man,  but  so 
eminently  muddy.  Also,  he  had  a  bundle  of  things,  in 
a  red  handkerchief.  Could  he  be  a  gentleman? 

Mr.  Warley  helped  her  out  by  deciding  in  the 
negative. 

"  Quite  so,"  he  said,  "  you  headed  the  horse  off 
very  well,  excellently." 

"  Not  at  all,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Faviel.  He  had  told 
Tod  Wilton,  the  only  information  about  his  intended 
movements  that  he  had  vouchsafed,  that  he  was  going 
to  take  things  as  they  came,  indeterminateness  being, 
in  his  opinion,  the  essence  of  mystery.  This  was  one 
of  the  things  that  had  come,  that  he  was  taken  for  a 
tramp.  He  hardly  realized  how  disheveled  plunging 
through  boggy  ground  in  the  dark  and  sleeping  there- 
after under  a  hedge  had  made  him,  but  he  was  not 
ill  pleased  at  the  results. 

"  Happy  to  have  been  of  any  use,  sir,"  he  added. 

Mr.  Warley  began  to  feel  in  his  pocket. 

"  Ought  you,"  Etta  whispered,  "  to  give  him  any- 
thing?" 

"  Yes,  yes,"  said  Mr.  Warley,  mistaking  her  mean- 
ing. "  It  is  not  indiscriminate  charity.  My  man,"  he 
proceeded,  addressing  Faviel,  "  you  have  done  very 
well  so  far.  You  have  earned  something.  I  have  been 
thinking  that  if  you  would  drive  us  home  from  here — 
you  understand  how  to  drive,  no  doubt? — I  would 
make  that  something  into  half-a-crown." 

"  Thankey,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Faviel. 

"  Very  well.  I'll  get  in  behind.  You  stay  where 
you  are,  Etta." 

Etta  felt  a  distinct  flutter  at  being  driven  home — in 
a  very  much  more  finished  style  than  her  father's,  or 
even  Jem  Mole's — by  this  dirty  but  handsome  tramp. 


64    Miss  Etta  Warley  is  Saved  from  Peril 

She  thought  of  all  sorts  of  things  on  the  way — both 
Arthurian  in  spirit  and  Georgian.  She  thought  of 
Lancelot  and  the  lily  maid  of  Astolat.  She  remem- 
bered that  profligate  young  baronets,  who  ran  through 
their  money  and  ended  by  cheating  at  cards,  some- 
times redeemed  themselves  by  turning  to  honest  labor 
and  falling  in  love  with  some  simple  and  gentle  maid. 
There  was  not  much  harm  in  cheating  at  cards,  after 
all.  Etta  had  often  done  it  when  playing  double- 
dummy  with  her  father.  Of  course  they  didn't  play 
for  money,  which  makes  a  difference.  But  then,  if 
one  repents  ? 

She  was  aroused  from  these  considerations  by  the 
voice  of  her  father  saying — to  the  young  man — "  The 
white  gate  on  the  left.  Take  care  not  to  scrape  against 
the  post." 


CHAPTER  X 

A   JOURNALISTIC   THUNDERBOLT 

"  GOOD  gracious  me !  Dear,  dear,  dear !  Bless  my 
soul ! " 

Sir  Jasper  Mallendon  emitted  these  ejaculations, 
indicative  in  succession  of  horror,  pity,  and  resignation 
— of  the  kind  that  is  expected  from  the  head  of  a 
family  who  does  not  wish  to  betray  any  weakness  in 
the  presence  of  those  who  habitually  respect  him  for 
his  self-control — at  the  breakfast  table  in  Kidgrave 
Square.  Judith  had  arisen  from  it  some  time  ago,  but 
there  still  sat  round  it  for  the  purpose  of  entertaining 
Jimmy — always  a  late  riser  in  the  holidays — Lady 
Mallendon  and  Miss  Robina  Finch.  Miss  Finch  was 
engaged  in  the  unromantic  task  of  keeping  an  eye  on 
Jimmy's  third  egg,  which  was  boiling  in  a  silver  boiler. 
Lady  Mallendon  at  the  coffee-urn  was  prepared  at  a 
moment's  notice  to  fill  Jimmy's  cup.  It  was  a  homely 
scene,  but  Sir  Jasper  spoilt  it. 

"  Bless  my  soul !  " 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?  "  said  Lady  Mallendon,  in 
great  alarm.  Miss  Finch  put  on  her  tragic  air  as 
though  prepared  to  bear  the  worst,  but  said  nothing. 

"  Buzz  it  out !  "  said  Jimmy  encouragingly. 

Sir  Jasper  buzzed  it  out  in  the  exasperating  way 
in  which  people  will  communicate  startling  news  of 
which  they  know  that  for  the  moment  they  have  the 
monopoly. 

'  Mysterious  disappearance !    Gentleman  vanished ! 
65 


66  A  Journalistic  Thunderbolt 

Is  it  foul  play? '  Most  extraordinary!  "  said  Sir  Jas- 
per, "  the  last  person  I  should  have  expected — from 
our  house  too." 

"  But  who — what  ?  "  asked  Lady  Mallendon  nerv- 
ously. 

"  On  the  night  of  your  At  Home,  a  fortnight  ago 
exactly.  Not  heard  of  since.  Excessively  unfortu- 
nate !  I  wonder  if " 

"  Look  here,  pater,"  said  Jimmy  firmly,  "  what 
is  it?" 

"  Yes,  pray  relieve  our  anxiety,  Sir  Jasper,"  said 
Miss  Finch. 

"  Why,  certainly,  certainly,"  said  Sir  Jasper.  "  I 
thought  I'd  told  you.  There  may  be  nothing  in  it. 
You  mustn't  distress  yourselves.  These  newspaper 

men All  right,  Jimmy,"  to  his  son  who  had  risen 

in  impatience.  "  I've  lost  the  place." 

"  But  you  know  who  it  is." 

"  Yes,  yes,  of  course,  Mr.  Faviel." 

"  Mr.  Faviel  has  disappeared  ?  " 

"  So  they  say  here,"  Sir  Jasper  acknowledged.  "  I 
don't  myself  believe  it  for  a  moment." 

For  a  complete  skeptic  Sir  Jasper  looked  so  un- 
commonly moved,  and  his  eyes  goggled  so  rapidly 
behind  his  gold-rimmed  spectacles,  that  there  was  some 
excuse  for  the  others  concluding,  as  they  certainly  did, 
that  there  was  no  doubt  whatever  about  the  truth  of 
the  tragic  intelligence. 

"  But  what  a  terrible  thing ! "  said  Miss  Finch. 
"  The  beautiful  sunlight,  the  little  birds,  the  tender 
coloring  of  earth's  lovely  flowers — all  snatched  in  a 
moment." 

"  Don't !  "  said  Lady  Mallendon  fearfully.  "  Don't, 
Robina.  I  cannot  bear  to  think  of  it.  And  even  if  I 


A  Journalistic  Thunderbolt  67 

could,  I  don't  understand  really  what  has  happened. 
Why  should  not  Mr.  Faviel  have  disappeared  from 
our  house?  He  doesn't  live  here,  does  he?  And  it 
seems  the  most  natural  thing  that  he  should  have  left 
us  and  gone  back  to  his  own  rooms.  Couldn't  we  send 
round,  Jasper,  and  inquire  if  he  isn't  really  at  home? 
Shatters  would  go  in  a  moment.  He  has  nothing  but 
the  silver  to  clean  to-day,  and,  as  we're  going  down 
to  The  Ashlands  in  a  day  or  two,  he'll  have  plenty  of 
time  for  that  later.  I  think  I'd  better  ring  for  Shat- 
ters, hadn't  I  ?" 

At  the  back  of  Lady  Mallendon's  mind,  a  little 
bewildered  though  it  was  by  the  suddenness  and 
equivocativeness  of  Sir  Jasper's  rendering  of  the  intel- 
ligence, was  a  feeling  of  guilt,  which  made  her  at  once 
ready  to  believe  the  worst  and  anxious  not  to.  She 
could  not  forget  how  she  had  schemed  that  night  to 
keep  Mr.  Faviel  away  from  Judith,  how  in  the  end  she 
had  found  him  in  the  conservatory — on  the  verge — she 
had  been  sure — of  proposing,  and  how  she  had  re- 
mained there,  for  the  purpose  of  preventing  it,  till  Mr. 
Wilton  came  in,  and  he  and  Mr.  Faviel  had  gone  off 
together.  Judith,  with  her  usual  reserve,  had  given 
no  hint  or  sign  of  whether  Mr.  Faviel  had  said  any- 
thing, or  whether  she  had  wanted  him  to  or  expected 
him  to.  She  might  have  refused  him,  for  all  Lady 
Mallendon  knew  to  the  contrary,  or  nothing  might 
have  been  said  at  all. 

But  if  Mr.  Faviel  had  been  disappointed  in  a  fer- 
vently cherished  plan — so  disappointed  that  he  had 
gone  out  and  committed — something  terrible  (Lady 
Mallendon  glozed  over  the  word  "  suicide  "  in  her 
mind — it  was  too  horrible!),  was  not  she  in  a  way 
responsible  ? 


68  A  Journalistic  Thunderbolt 

"  Oh,  I'm  sure  Shatters  had  better  go  and  ask,"  she 
said  again. 

"  I'm  afraid,"  said  Sir  Jasper  lugubriously,  "  that 
it's  no  good  sending  Shatters  except  as  a  politeness. 
The  paper  would  hardly  put  in  a  statement  like  that 
without  some  authority.  It  isn't  the  Times,  it's  true, 
but  there  are  limits  even  to  a  cheaper  paper.  No,  I  am 
afraid  we  must  accept  it  as  a  fact  that  Faviel  has  dis- 
appeared. Why  he  has  disappeared " 

"  Oh,  dear !  "  said  Lady  Mallendon,  shuddering. 

"  Or  where  he  has  disappeared  to  we  have  yet  to 
learn.  We  may  never  learn.  The  police  have  no  clue. 
I  am  a  little  surprised  that  they  have  not  called  here." 

"Don't  let  them!"  said  Lady  Mallendon.  "I 
couldn't  bear  it.  The  sooner  we  go  to  The  Ashlands 
the  better." 

"  You  mustn't  worry  yourself,  my  dear,"  said  Sir 
Jasper.  "  The  mere  fact  that  he  has  disappeared  from 
our  house  and  been  murdered — which,  of  course,  he 
may  not  have  been,"  he  hastily  added,  as  Lady  Mal- 
lendon turned  pale — "  which  in  all  probability,  I  may 
say,  he  has  not  been " 

"  Of  course  he  hasn't,"  said  Jimmy,  who  had  in  the 
meantime  been  perusing  the  newspaper  from  which 
the  information  had  come,  and  also,  callously,  in  Miss 
Finch's  opinion,  eating  his  third  egg.  "  I'd  back  Mr. 
Faviel  against  three  murderers.  Of  course  he  might 
have  been  overpowered  by  numbers — in  a  cellar  or 
some  place  with  a  trap-door — only  there's  no  reason 
for  you  to  excite  yourself,  mater.  Personally,  I  be- 
lieve he's  lost  his  memory.  Young  Fawkesbury  did 
that  at  school  last  term  after  getting  whacked  on  the 
head  with  a  cricket  bat.  He  got  so  jolly  sidy  being 
tried  for  the  second  as  wicket-keeper,  that  he  would 


A  Journalistic  Thunderbolt  69 

stand  up  too  close  when  Robinson  Minor  was  batting. 
Got  a  hot  leg  hit  just  behind  his  left  ear.  He  didn't 
say  much  at  the  time — stunned,  I  s'pose, — but  he  gave 
up  his  Latin  prose  with  French  words  in  it  next  day, 
and  couldn't  say  a  line  of  his  Rep.  Lots  of  us  thought 
he  was  shamming,  and  Latters  was  just  going  to  cane 
him,  only  luckily  he  fainted  in  time.  Had  to  be  sent 
home  in  the  end  for  a  month.  We  heard  afterwards 
from  Tommy  Walls's  brother,  who  lives  in  the  same 
part  of  London,  that  young  Fawke  jolly  well  had  to 
go  out  walks  with  his  kiddy  sisters'  governess,  for  fear 
he  should  get  lost  and  taken  to  the  Dogs'  Home." 

The  guilty,  like  the  drowning,  snatch  at  straws  to 
save  themselves,  which  is,  perhaps,  why  Lady  Mallen- 
don  found  comfort  in  Jimmy's  graphic  parallel,  want- 
ing in  technicality  though  it  was. 

"  I  shouldn't  be  at  all  surprised  if  that  was  it,"  she 
said  eagerly.  "  I  should  be  dreadfully  sorry  to  think 
it  was — poor  Mr.  Faviel — but  I  expect  it  is;  and  if  it 
is " — with  characteristic  agility  Lady  Mallendon's 
mind,  self -acquitted  of  the  guilty  conscience  that  had 
weighed  her  down  a  moment  ago,  flew  to  other  and 
quite  different  possibilities — "  if  it  is  the  case  that  Mr. 
Faviel's  memory  has  gone,  which  is  a  dreadful  thing 
to  think  of,  but  I'm  sure  we  cannot  help  it,  oughtn't 
we  to  try  and  keep  it  from " 

Lady  Mallendon's  lips  formed  the  word  "  Judith  " 
at  Sir  Jasper.  She  hoped  that  Jimmy,  who  was  en- 
gaged with  marmalade,  wouldn't  notice. 

"  Judith?  "  said  Sir  Jasper  innocently. 

"  Why  shouldn't  Judith  know?  "  demanded  Jimmy. 

Lady  Mallendon  compressed  her  lips  and  raised  her 
eyebrows  alternately  at  Sir  Jasper  and  Miss  Finch. 

"What's  the  game,  mater?" 


70  A  Journalistic  Thunderbolt 

"  I  think  it  would  be  wiser,"  said  Lady  Mallendon. 
"  When  you  are  older " 

"  And  more  experienced,"  Jimmy  suggested  encour- 
agingly. "  Stick  to  it." 

"  We  need  not  discuss  the  question  here,"  said  Lady 
Mallendon,  declining  to  be  drawn.  "  Have  you  fin- 
ished, Jimmy?  " 

Jimmy  had  not  finished,  and  said  so.  He  added 
that  his  mother  need  not  mind  him.  Lady  Mallendon, 
however,  stuck  to  it  with  such  an  unwonted  tenacity 
that  she  succeeded  in  leaving  Miss  Finch  to  administer 
to  Jimmy's  wants  while  she  herself  interviewed  Sir 
Jasper  in  the  library  before  he  left  for  the  City. 

"  Don't  you  see,"  she  said,  "  that  it's  particularly 
important  that  Judith  should  not  know  ?  " 

"Why?" 

"  Mr.  Blenkenstein  is  coming  to-day." 

Sir  Jasper  did  not  see. 

"  What's  Blenkenstein  got  to  do  with  it  ?  " 

He  did  not  care  for  Mr.  Blenkenstein.  He  might 
be  all  right.  Finance  was  rather  outside  Sir  Jasper's 
province.  It  was  not  a  matter  with  which  he  would 
have  cared  to  be  concerned  himself,  but  that  was  chiefly 
because  he  was  aware  that,  if  he  were  concerned  with 
it,  he  would  very  shortly  be  in  the  Bankruptcy  Court. 
Still,  some  one  had  to  manage  these  things,  and  Blen- 
kenstein might  have  been  a  money-lender  for  all  Sir 
Jasper  would  have  minded,  if  only  he  had  not  per- 
sisted, as  he  always  did,  in  treating  Sir  Jasper  as  a 
brother  magnate  of  the  City  with  a  man  of  the  world's 
contempt  for  smaller  things.  Outside  his  office,  Sir 
Jasper's  sole  contempt  was  for  the  City,  which,  in  its 
absurd  topsy-turviness  had  turned  him — the  least  likely 
man  in  the  world — into  a  magnate. 


A  Journalistic  Thunderbolt  71 

Lady  Mallendon  was  impatient  at  Sir  Jasper's 
obtuseness. 

"  He  may  propose.  I  know  that  he  is  only  waiting 
for  an  opportunity,  and  Judith  is  not,  I  believe,  averse. 
Then,  what  with  Mr.  Blenkenstein's  coming  down  to 
stop  with  us,  and  acting  in  the  play,  which  is  to  be  in 
a  fortnight,  remember,  Judith  will  quite  forget  that 
there  ever  was  such  a  man  as  Mr.  Faviel,  and  the  pain 
of  hearing  of  this  sad  affair  will  be  considerably  les- 
sened, if  she  ever  has  to  hear  of  it.  If  she  hears  of  it 
now,  it  will  be  different." 

"  But  if  she  doesn't  care  for  Faviel,  as  you  said?  " 
argued  Sir  Jasper. 

"  Men  are  so  slow,"  said  Lady  Mallendon  wearily. 

"  It's  the  shock — the  pathos — the Suppose,  when 

we  were  engaged,  Jasper,  that  you  had  suddenly  van- 
ished. Do  you  suppose  that  I  should  have  rested  till 
the  matter  was  cleared  up  ?  " 

"  I  don't  suppose  you  would,  my  dear,"  said  Sir 
Jasper.  "  You  were  always  full  of  energy.  I  should 
have  been  routed  out  in  no  time.  But  then,  Judith  and 
Mr.  Faviel  aren't  engaged.  Well,  well,  I  think  I  see 
what  you  mean.  Have  it  as  you  like.  I'll  not  mention 
it  to  Judith." 

"  And  I'll  warn  Jimmy  and  Miss  Finch  not  to,"  said 
Lady  Mallendon  triumphantly.  "  We  shall  be  going 
down  to  The  Ashlands  the  day  after  to-morrrow,  thank 
goodness." 


CHAPTER  XI 

MR.    WILTON    MAKES   A   MISTAKE 

LADY  MALLENDON  proposed;  but  the  problem  was 
already  on  the  way  to  be  disposed  of,  by  reason  of  the 
fact  that  Judith  had  read  the  paper  before  any  of  the 
others  were  down. 

While  Sir  Jasper  was  reading  out  the  news  in  the 
breakfast-room,  Judith,  a  little  pale,  but  dry-eyed  and 
full  of  imperiousness,  was  preparing  herself — or 
rather,  being  prepared  by  her  maid — for  a  visit  upon 
which  she  had  decided. 

"  Be  quick !  "  she  said,  swinging  an  impatient  foot. 

"  Yes,  miss,"  said  the  girl,  surprised  into  meekness. 
As  a  rule,  Miss  Mallendon  was  most  courteous  for  any 
service  rendered.  This  morning  she  was  despotic.  It 
might  be  that,  foreseeing  a  certain  humiliation  in  the 
course  which  lay  before  her,  she  was  desirous  of 
asserting  herself  where  she  could. 

"  Yes,  that  hat,  any  hat,  the  brown  straw  with  the 
pink  roses;  say  that  I  shall  be  back  by  lunch-time." 

With  an  uncommon  queenliness  of  walk,  head  high, 
and  lips  that  could  curl  most  instantly,  Miss  Mallen- 
don turned  out  of  Kidgrave  Square  at  the  same  time 
as  Sir  Jasper  was  being  sworn  to  secrecy  in  the  library. 
She  was  on  her  way  to  call  on  Mr.  Wilton,  who,  as 
she  remembered  to  have  been  told,  was  stopping  with 
Mr.  Faviel  in  his  rooms. 

She  did  not  know  why  she  was  going,  or  what  she 
expected  to  learn.  Only  she  knew  that  she  must  find 

72 


Mr.  Wilton  Makes  a  Mistake          73 

out  if  that  news  in  the  paper  was  true.  Compounded 
equally,  as  a  maid  should  be,  of  modesty  and  shame- 
lessness,  she  fought  a  fight  as  she  went  in  which  her 
shameless  self  always  won — to  her  shame.  It  was  not 
maidenly,  to  her  ideas,  to  be  hurrying  off  in  this  way 
to  a  young  man's  rooms  for  news  of  him.  Yet,  if  she 
had  cared  for  him,  if  she  had  been  sure  that  she  cared 
for  him,  the  mere  convention  would  have  weighed  less 
than  nothing  with  her.  She  was  ashamed,  because  she 
was  not  sure.  She  went  because  she  must;  conscious 
that  if  she  did  not  go,  she  could  expect  to  hear  no 
more  than  any  ordinary  person  might  hear,  of  an  event 
which  might  begin  and  end,  with  no  word  or  sign 
hereafter,  in  that  terrible  paragraph — no  more,  per- 
haps less.  As  she  well  knew,  her  aunt  was  antag- 
onistic to  Mr.  Faviel,  might  even  be  relieved  to  know 
that,  without  further  trouble,  he  had  removed  himself, 
— how  it  did  not  matter — from  the  list  of  her  ac- 
quaintance. He  was  only  an  acquaintance.  There  was 
no  reason  why  Lady  Mallendon  should  concern  herself 
about  him.  But  to  know  nothing:  Judith  could  not 
endure  that. 

She  tried  to  argue  to  herself  that  this  visit  was  such 
as  a  person  might  pay  out  of  mere  friendliness.  One 
could  inquire  for  a  friend,  surely?  But  even  while 
she  argued,  she  was  thinking  of  that  scene  in  the  con- 
servatory a  fortnight  ago.  He  had  come  in  quickly — 
begun,  "  Judith."  He  had  never  called  her  "  Judith  " 
before.  He  had  no  right  to  call  her  "  Judith  "  then, 

none  whatever,  if In  that  "  if  "  lay  the  whole 

trouble.  Lady  Mallendon  had  come  in,  followed  by 
Mr.  Wilton;  and  he  had  said  no  more  than  "  Judith." 
A  love  scene?  Judith's  lips  curled  at  the  creature  of 
fancy  who  could  see  a  love  scene  in  a  single  word,  her 


74          Mr.  Wilton  Makes  a  Mistake 

name  spoken  lightly,  no  doubt,  by  a  young  man.  He 
would  have  come  back,  if  he  had  meant  to  say  more. 
She  could  not  deny  that  she  had  expected  him  to  come 
back.  Had  she  desired  it  ?  And  what  would  she  have 
said  to  him,  if  he  had  come?  But  he  had  not  come. 
He  was  gay  and  handsome  and  irresponsible ;  she  did 
not  like  irresponsible  people.  Mr.  Blenkenstein  was 
not  irresponsible.  He  would  never  have  disappeared. 
But,  oh,  if  Mr.  Faviel  appeared  never  again ! 

The  idea  that  he  might  be  dead,  and  she  know 
nothing  of  it,  increased  like  a  nightmare.  She  walked 
more  quickly,  she  had  felt  that  she  must  walk ;  and  so, 
almost  panting,  she  came  to  the  address  which  she 
had  looked  out  half  an  hour  before  in  Lady  Mallen- 
don's  book. 

Mr.  Wilton,  smoking  an  after-breakfast  pipe  in  a 
room  redolent  of  kidneys  and  bacon,  a  room  in  which 
the  paraphernalia  of  the  breakfast  table  were,  perhaps, 
the  most  orderly  objects,  owing  to  a  habit  Mr.  Faviel 
had  of  strewing  things  collected  in  his  travels,  from 
ivory  gods  to  native  costumes,  broadcast  about  it, — 
Mr.  Wilton  in  highly-colored  carpet  slippers  and  a 
smoking  jacket,  was  informed  by  Mrs.  Mountbank, 
Faviel's  landlady,  that  there  was  a  young  lady  come 
to  see  him. 

On  the  top  of  these  words,  Miss  Mallendon  swept 
into  the  room — a  young  goddess,  slender  and  straight 
and  imperious — for  heroes  to  reckon  with  and  not  a 
man  in  highly-colored  carpet  slippers.  Even  at  the 
At  Home,  where  Mr.  Wilton  had  tried  hard  to  retain 
his  preconception  that  no  girl  could  be  good  enough 
for  Dick  Faviel,  where,  moreover,  he  had  been  suitably 
attired,  he  had  been  awed  into  admiration  by  her  rare 
and  gracious  bearing.  Here  he  felt  added  to  the  dust 


Mr.  Wilton  Makes  a  Mistake  75 

beneath  her  feet,  dust  which,  by  the  way,  he  noticed 
to  be  plentiful.  He  was  disposed  to  blame  Faviel  for 
having  left  him  in  such  a  dusty  room,  though  it  was 
the  first  time  he  had  noticed  it,  and  there  was  another 
room  kept  clean  for  visitors. 

If  Mr.  Wilton  could  have  been  given  some  warning, 
and  have  received  Miss  Mallendon  in  the  other  room, 
it  is  possible  that  he  would  have  succeeded  better  in 
carrying  off  a  scene  which  it  is  idle  to  deny  ended  in 
a  fiasco. 

The  thing  that  contributed  most  to  his  undoing  was 
that  he  had  himself  just  been  reading  the  very  news 
which  had  brought  Judith  there.  Being  in  the  secret 
of  the  wager,  he  had  been  immensely  annoyed  by  it 
on  Faviel's  behalf.  It  was  undoubtedly  a  move  of 
Blenkenstein's,  a  clever  move,  perhaps,  but  obviously 
an  irritating  one.  It  made  Dick  look  like  a  fool.  It 
was  going  a  good  deal  too  far.  To  make  a  private  bet 
into  a  public  farce  was  like  betraying  a  confidence. 
Besides,  the  public  did  not  know,  and  nobody  could 
tell  them,  by  the  rules  of  the  wager,  what  were  the 
rights  of  the  case.  Blenkenstein  had  been  confound- 
edly cunning  in  securing  that  no  one  outside  the  Com- 
mittee should  be  entitled  to  know  the  facts.  Wilton 
had  not  seen  how  that  disability  could  be  made  to 
work,  but  he  was  beginning  to  see  now.  What  would 
Dick's  friends  think?  What — in  particular — would 
Dick's  divinity  think? 

Well,  here  she  was,  descended  upon  him. 

She  said :  "  Good-morning,  Mr.  Wilton." 

Mr.  Wilton  replied :  "  How  do  you  do  ?  Awfully 
pleased  to — I  mean  it's  a  jolly " 

Something  in  her  look  proved  an  obstacle  to  Mr. 
Wilton's  finishing  his  praise  of  the  weather. 


76          Mr.  Wilton  Makes  a  Mistake 

"  Can  you  tell  me  about  Mr.  Faviel?  Is  it  true?  " 
she  asked  quickly. 

So  she  had  imagined  a  tragedy.  Mr.  Wilton's  heart 
smote  him,  and  a  project  for  going  off  later,  rinding 
Blenkenstein  and  punching  his  head,  formed  itself  in 
his  brain.  Not  seeing  the  precise  awkwardness  of  the 
situation  in  front  of  him,  he  hastened  to  relieve  Miss 
Mallendon's  anxiety. 

"  Oh,  he's  all  right,  thank  you.  Nothing  the  matter 
with  him  that  I  know  of." 

Miss  Mallendon  had  refused  the  chair  from  which 
he  had  sprung  in  a  desperate  hurry,  and  she  stood 
facing  him. 

"  Perhaps  you  haven't  read  the  paper  this  morn- 
ing ?  "  she  said. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  Mr.  Wilton,  convinced  that  she 
chiefly  required  to  be  set  at  ease.  "  All  rubbish." 

He  was  so  far  successful  that  a  fiery  blush  over- 
spread her  cheeks. 

"  It's  not  true,  then,  that  he  has  disappeared  ?  You 
know  where  he  is?  " 

"  Oh,  he's  disappeared  all  right,"  said  Mr.  Wilton, 
less  certainly.  "  He's  disappeared,  you  know — of 
course.  But  there's  nothing  in  that.  I  don't  know 
where  he  is  as  a  matter  of  fact.  He  didn't  tell  me 
where  he  was  going " 

"  But  you  knew  he  was  going?  " 

"  Well,"  said  Mr.  Wilton,  still  more  uneasily  and 
hampered  by  the  rules  of  the  wager,  "  I  can't  say  that 
exactly.  It's — it's  probably  some  joke." 

"Some  joke?" 

"  Or  business " 

"  I  see." 

Miss  Mallendon's  perception  was  recorded  in  the 


Mr.  Wilton  Makes  a  Mistake          77 

iciest  of  voices.     Her  cheeks  were  no  longer  flushed. 

"  It's  more  business,  I  expect,"  said  Mr.  Wilton, 
feeling  like  a  fish  at  the  end  of  a  line,  "  than  anything 
else.  It's  quite  true  Dick's  vanished,  as  I  say,  but 
how  it  got  into  the  papers  I  can't  say — at  least — it's 
an  awful  shame.  Makes  such  a  fool  of  him !  " 

"  It  does,  doesn't  it  ? "  Miss  Mallendon  agreed. 
"  I'm  sorry  to  have  troubled  you,  Mr.  Wilton.  But 
you  see — I — we — Lady  Mallendon  was  naturally  anx- 
ious as  it  happened  at  her  house — according  to  the 
paper."  The  lie  almost  stuck,  but  it  got  through,  and 
crumpled  up  Mr.  Wilton. 

"  Not  at  all — I  mean  awfully  good  of  you.  I'll  tell 

Dick,  or  rather Must  you  go?  This  room's  in 

a  beastly  state.  May  I  get  you  a  cab  ?  " 

He  returned  a  minute  or  two  later,  having  seen 
Miss  Mallendon  as  far  as  the  door,  where  he  had 
been  politely  dismissed,  in  a  state  bordering  on  dis- 
traction. Exactly  what  had  gone  wrong  he  could  not 
make  out,  but  that  whatever  had  gone  wrong  had  gone 
excessively  wrong  he  could  not  fail  to  realize.  Ought 
he  to  have  professed  to  be  anxious  about  Dick?  He 
was  anxious  enough,  but  Miss  Mallendon's  tragic  face 
had  set  him  on  the  wrong  track — if  that  was  the  right 
one.  He  would  have  supposed  that  she  would  have 
been  rather  relieved  to  know  that  he  was  safe,  if  she 
liked  him.  He  wished  to  heaven  he  had  not  accepted 
the  care  of  Dick's  rooms  during  Dick's  absence.  He 
wished  that  somebody  would  come  in  and  kick  him,  or 
that  somebody  would  come  in  whom  he  might  kick. 

Meanwhile  Judith,  with  heavy  limbs  and  a  heart 
smoldering  with  indignation,  was  faring  homeward. 
At  the  time  she  had  refused  Mr.  Wilton's  offer  to  get 
a  cab,  because  her  one  desire  then  was  to  get  away 


78  Mr.  Wilton  Makes  a  Mistake 

from  him.  But  when  she  had  walked  a  little  way, 
and  a  cabman  hailed  her,  she  was  glad.  She  wanted 
to  be  quit  of  the  staring  shops  and  the  jolting  people. 
A  newspaper  boy,  who  insisted  on  protecting  her  dress 
as  she  stepped  in  and  selling  her  one  of  his  evening 
papers  afterwards,  got  sixpence — from  a  very  limp 
young  lady. 

The  pink  sheet  lay  on  Judith's  knees,  unregarded 
until  by  mere  chance  her  eye  lighted  on  a  head-line — 

"  STRANGE  DISAPPEARANCE. 
A  NEW  EXPLANATION." 

She  read  what  was  printed  below  languidly  enough, 
wondering  why  people  should  take  the  trouble  to  make 
such  dramatic  mountains  out  of  the  merest  molehills. 
A  personal  description  was  given  of  the  vanished  man ; 
she  saw  and  noted  that  it  was  mostly  wrong.  Mr. 
Faviel's  eyes  were  not  blue.  And  what  could  be  the 
use  of  an  interview  with  Mr.  Faviel's  shoemaker,  even 
though  that  expert  in  leather  had  committed  himself 
to  the  opinion  that  he  would  never  have  expected  so 
pleasant  a  gentleman  to  go  off  in  such  a  queer  way? 
There  was  nothing  queer  about  it.  It  was  a  joke. 
Mr.  Wilton,  who  knew,  had  said  it  was  a  joke.  A 
joke — to  be  discussed  and  chatted  about  in  a  wretched 
paper  like  this. 

Her  eye,  traveling  on,  caught  a  couple  of  lines  at 
the  end  of  the  article : 

"  It  is  now  believed  that  Mr.  Faviel  has  eloped  with 
a  well-known  German  actress." 

Miss  Mallendon  bit  her  underlip  in  sudden  anguish. 
Then,  though  nobody  could  have  seen  the  previous 
weakness,  she  curled  the  upper  one  disdainfully.  No 


Mr.  Wilton  Makes  a  Mistake          79 

wonder  Mr.  Wilton  had  been  confused,  if  that  was  the 
joke. 

And  she  had  gone  to  visit  his  rooms! 

It  was  quite  a  pleasant  thought  for  the  rest  of  the 
cab  journey,  that  all  men  were  not  jesters.  Mr.  Blen- 
kenstein — a  greater  man  in  every  way — would  see  no 
humor  in  such  an  affair  as  this.  And  if  a  man  like 
Mr.  Blenkenstein  wished  to  make  a  foolish  and  pride- 
sick  girl  his  wife,  it  would  be — it  would  be  great  good 
luck  for  such  a  girl. 

At  the  personal  prospect  of  the  good  luck,  never- 
theless Miss  Mallendon,  seeing  it  now  for  the  first  time 
as  a  very  likely  and  immediate  thing,  could  not  refrain 
from  a  slight  shiver. 


CHAPTER  XII 

FIRST   APPEARANCE   OF    MONARCH 

"  'Tis  a  bit  of  a  sharp  trick,"  said  O'Levin.  He 
had  come  over  to  Faviel's  rooms  in  response  to  a  note 
from  Mr.  Tod  Wilton,  whose  spirits  after  a  disturbed 
night,  in  which  he  had  dreamed  of  six  more  inter- 
views with  Miss  Mallendon  during  each  of  which  he 
made  a  more  hideous  fool  of  himself  than  in  the  previ- 
ous one,  had  sunk  to  zero.  Tod's  hope  had  been  that 
consultation  with  O'Levin  might  reveal  some  streak  of 
hope  in  the  overshadowed  sky  of  Dick's  affairs.  He 
had  intended  to  reveal  what  had  happened  on  the  night 
of  Dick's  disappearance  a  fortnight  ago — a  happen- 
ing the  weak  point  in  which  was,  as  Mr.  Maxhaven 
had  pointed  out  at  the  time,  that  in  all  probability  it 
could  not  be  proved  that  Blenkenstein  had  violated 
the  rules  of  the  wager.  The  train  by  which  they  had 
traveled  to  Haleden  Hoo  was  scheduled  to  start  at 
midnight:  Blenkenstein  would  surely  say  that  he  had 
placed  his  men  at  twelve  o'clock  precisely  at  various 
points — a  thing  he  was  entitled  to  do — and  that, 
whether  it  was  luck  or  good  guesswork,  they  had  hit 
on  Faviel's  precise  vanishing-point. 

Tod  had  rather  hoped  that  O'Levin  would  find  a 
counter-argument  which  would  demonstrate  this  to  be 
mere  prevarication.  But,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  Tod  did 
not  get  as  far  as  revealing  the  events  of  that  night. 
He  had  begun  by  asking  O'Levin  if  he  did  not  think 

80 


First  Appearance  of  Monarch          81 

Blenkenstein's  sensational  articles  in  the  newspaper 
would  justify  Dick  in  throwing  up  the  wager,  suppos- 
ing O'Levin  would  be  sympathetic  at  all  events  on  this 
point,  and  that  the  other  matter  would  clinch  him. 
O'Levin,  however,  for  some  reason  or  other  was  not 
sympathetic. 

"  Tis  a  bit  of  a  sharp  trick,"  he  said.  "  But  I'm  not 
saying  it's  not  in  the  game.  We're  not  using  it  in 
the  '  Drum  '  because  we're  full  up  of  copy ;  but  you 
can't  blame  Blink  for  trying  it  on.  It's  an  advertise- 
ment for  Faviel.  The  greatest  men  like  it  nowa- 
days." 

"  You  can't  deny,"  said  Tod  hotly,  "  that  that  story 
about  eloping  with  an  actress  is  sickening,  when  he 
knows — and  we  all  know — what  we  do." 

O'Levin  shuffled  in  his  chair.  He  had  a  very  fair 
inkling  of  what  Tod  referred  to — namely,  Faviel's 
relations  towards  Blenkenstein  concerning  Miss  Mal- 
lendon;  and  his  private  opinion  of  Blenkenstein  for 
using  the  papers  to  circulate  a  scandalous  rumor  coin- 
cided singularly  with  Tod's.  Unfortunately  he  had,  in 
a  careless  way,  borrowed  at  times  from  Blenkenstein; 
repaid  him  chiefly  by  a  manner  of  effusive  friendliness 
which  came  too  easily  to  him ;  and,  having  been  insin- 
cerely over- friendly,  was  trying  to  make  amends  to  his 
own  conscience  by  remaining  tongue-tied  at  the  present 
juncture. 

Tod's  moral  fervor  gave  him  that  sense  of  injury 
with  which  people  sometimes  ease  their  other  sense 
of  being  in  the  wrong. 

"  Oh,  I'm  not  denying  anything,"  he  said  airily. 
"  Maybe,  as  I  say,  'tis  a  bit  sharp.  Don't  ask  me  what 
Blink  thinks  he  gains  by  it,  the  more  so  " — O'Levin's 
affectation  of  relating  a  commonplace  was  somewhat 


82  First  Appearance  of  Monarch 

strained — "  as  I  understand  that  he  is  to  all  intents 
and  purposes  engaged  to  Miss  Mallendon " 

"  What  ?  "    Mr.  Wilton  leapt  to  his  feet. 

"  So  he  told  me  himself  this  morning." 

"Engaged?" 

"  Well,  mostly.  It's  to  be  finally  settled  in  a  fort- 
night, so  he  said,  but  it's  all  right  in  the  meanwhile. 
I  believe  it  to  be  a  fact.  When  our  friend  Blink  is 
telling  a  lie  he  is  cute  enough,  but  he  was  dying  to  tell 
the  truth,  and  he  could  not  hide  it." 

"  The  man's  a  bounder." 

"  Come,"  said  O'Levin,  who  had  begun  to  recover 
his  humor.  "  Ye  must  not  say  that.  For  one  thing, 
the  word  is  out  of  date.  For  another,  the  elements 
that  went  to  make  up  the  bounder  are  no  longer  of 
the  shade  that  they  were.  They  have  been  restored 
into  virtues,  and  we  strive  after  them,  since  they  are 
not  merely  their  own  reward.  The  flowing  tide,  Tod, 
my  boy.  But  apart  from  that — and  I  will  grant  you 
for  the  sake  of  argument  that  in  some  ways  Blink 
is  no  gentleman — he  may  have  an  excuse  for  babbling 
his  love  affairs.  He  may  wish  it  to  be  known  to 
Faviel,  so  that  no  complications  may  ensue.  He  may 
have  followed  the  most  delicatest  chain  of  reasoning. 
Anyway,  ye've  no  occasion  to  punch  his  head  at  all." 

The  last  remark  may  have  been  due  to  Mr.  Wilton's 
clenched-fist  action  as  he  strode  up  and  down  the 
room.  He  certainly  would  have  rejoiced  to  have 
Blenkenstein  there. 

"  You  don't  think  there's  anything  to  be  done 
then?"  he  asked. 

O'Levin  shrugged. 

"  Blink  has  the  whip  hand,  there's  not  a  doubt  of 
it.  Dick  might  come  out  and  lose  the  wager.  But, 


First  Appearance  of  Monarch  83 

for  myself,  charming  as  Miss  Mallenclon  is,  I  would, 
under  the  circumstances,  lie  low  and  keep  me  eye  on 
the  ten  thousand.  He's  done  a  fortnight  already." 

"  And  you  say  the  engagement  is  to  be  announced 
in  another  fortnight." 

"  From  yesterday,  so  I  gather.  The  maiden's  coy, 
we  may  take  it.  Meanwhile,  Blink  goes  down  to  The 
Ashlands,  Sir  Jasper's  house  in  the  country,  to  stop 
and  help  in  a  pastoral  play  written  by  Miss  Finch. 
There  is  to  be  a  big  house  party — twenty  dramatis 
persona,  not  counting  choruses.  Miss  Mallendon  is 
to  be  the  heroine,  Blink  the  hero.  I — worse  luck — 
will  be  stage  manager,  having  a  few  days  off  just  then. 
'Tis  for  a  charity,  I  need  hardly  say,  and  will  be  in 
the  garden,  probably  during  a  thunderstorm.  Alto- 
gether 'twill  be  the  queerest  little,  dog-rotten,  sugar- 
and-water,  demi-semi  Savoy  imitation  that  ever  made 
a  man's  side  ache.  Only,  I  fear  me,  Lieutenant,  our 
friend  Dick  will  be  out  of  it  entirely." 

Mr.  Wilton's  reply  to  this  dismal  prognostication, 
if  he  had  intended  to  give  any,  was  lost,  owing  to  a 
knock  on  the  door,  followed  by  the  announcement,  in 
the  voice  of  Dick's  landlady — 

"  A  lady  to  see  you,  sir." 

"  I'll  go,"  said  O'Levin. 

"  Don't,"  said  Mr.  Wilton  imploringly.  The  idea 
that  it  might  be  Miss  Mallendon,  come  back  for  an- 
other interview,  weakened  his  knees. 

"  You  can't  get  out  by  the  window,"  O'Levin  was 
beginning  in  some  surprise,  when  the  door  was  opened 
and  the  further  simple  announcement  made, — 

"  Miss  Faviel." 

A  tall  and  handsome  old  lady,  with  remarkably 
bright  eyes,  wrinkled  at  the  corners,  and  an  upright 


84  First  Appearance  of  Monarch 

gait,  that  made  the  stout  stick  she  carried  seem  a 
superfluity,  thereupon  entered  the  room,  preceded  by 
a  small,  stout  dog,  which  made  straight  for  O'Levin's 
ankles. 

"  Down,  Monarch ! "  said  the  old  lady,  adding, 
"  Do  not  be  alarmed,  Mr. ?  " 

"  O'Levin,"  said  that  gentleman,  stirring  his  feet 
uneasily.  "  Or,  rather,  madam,  I  would  say  it  was 
me  name  before  I  was  torn  to  bits.  Ye'll  excuse  me 
criticising  your  little  baste,  but  fear,  as  Stevenson  puts 
it,  is  the  great  passion." 

"  But  you  mustn't  be  afraid,  Mr.  O'Levin.  Down, 
Monarch !  Quiet,  you  wicked  one !  He's  not  " — Miss 
Faviel  offered  the  explanation  with  a  good  deal  of 
pride, — "  he  is  not  very  well  at  present,  owing  to  our 
railway  journey.  Trains  always  upset  him,  but  noth- 
ing, I  believe,  would  prevent  him  from  challenging 
a  stranger.  He  used  to  be  a  great  ratter." 

Monarch,  whose  appearance  was  that  of  a  very 
diminutive  pug  with  the  curl  taken  out,  had  come  off, 
but  stood  defiantly  in  the  room  while  this  account  of 
his  habits  and  temperament  was  offered,  with  his  thin 
tail  stiffly  angled  and  his  four  feet  apart.  His  eyes 
bulged  ferocity  at  O'Levin. 

"  Has  he  a  bad  memory,  may  be?  "  asked  O'Levin. 
"  He  seems  to  take  me  for  a  rat." 

"Oh,  I  don't  think  that,"  said  Miss  Faviel 
graciously.  "  He  is  curiously  intelligent,  and  in  reality 
very  good-natured." 

"  We  ought  to  get  on  together,"  said  O'Levin 
modestly. 

"  I  think,"  said  Miss  Faviel,  smiling  and  turning 
towards  Wilton,  "  if  a  piece  of  sugar  could  be  ob- 
tained, Mr.  Wilton — I  thought  you  must  be  Mr.  Wil- 


First  Appearance  of  Monarch  85 

ton,  Richard  has  often  spoken  to  me  of  you — and  if 
Mr.  O'Levin  were  to  present  the  lump  of  sugar  to 
Monarch,  there  would  be  no  ill-feeling  on  either  side." 

"  None  on  mine,"  said  O'Levin. 

"  And  none  on  Monarch's.  Once  his  friend,  always 
his  friend.  He  is  rather  like  an  elephant  in  that 
respect." 

Tod,  who  had  obtained  the  sugar  without  having 
as  yet  had  any  explanation  of  Miss  Faviel's  presence, 
had  the  pleasure  of  seeing  O'Levin  going  through  the 
process  of  making  friends  with  Monarch.  After  he 
had  succeeded  in  making  Monarch  speak  to  him,  Miss 
Faviel,  who  had  in  the  meantime  taken  an  armchair, 
proceeded  to  show  the  stuff  of  which  she  was  made. 

"  I  suppose  you  are  also  a  friend  of  my  nephew's?  " 
she  asked. 

"  At  your  service." 

"  Then  I  am  sure  you  will  forgive  me  for  saying 
that  it  is  highly  important  for  me  to  have  an  hour  with 
Mr.  Wilton,  if  he  can  spare  the  time.  Perhaps  later 
on  I  may  have  the  pleasure  of  seeing  you  again." 

O'Levin  went  like  a  lamb,  and  Mr.  Wilton  remained 
like  one. 

"  And  now,  Mr.  Wilton,"  said  the  old  lady,  "  I  must 
tell  you  that  I  have  come  up  to  try  and  clear  this 
mystery  about  my  nephew,  and  I  want  your  assistance. 
In  the  first  place,  I  do  not  believe  that  story  about 
Richard  eloping  with  a  German  actress.  As  I  said  to 
my  friend,  Miss  Cort,  if  she  had  been  a  French  actress 
— perhaps — but  not  a  German.  Whatever  may  be 
Richard's  faults,  he  always  showed  good  taste." 

At  a  later  date,  Mr.  Wilton  informed  Miss  Faviel 
that  he  owed  her,  indirectly,  his  life's  happiness,  in 
a  sly  speech,  which,  as  Miss  Faviel  informed  her  com- 


86          First  Appearance  of  Monarch 

panion,  Miss  Cort,  was  characteristic  of  one  of  the 
pleasantest  and  most  honest  young  men  she  knew.  But 
had  Mr.  Wilton  been  asked  what  he  owed  Miss  Faviel 
at  the  end  of  his  first  half-hour's  acquaintance  with 
her,  he  would  have  said  a  most  trying  time,  crammed 
full  of  deceits  such  as  he  scarcely  hoped  could  escape 
discovery.  The  truth  is,  that  that  impression  of  Mr. 
Wilton's  honesty,  which  Miss  Faviel  had  received  from 
her  first  glance,  saved  him  more  than  he  knew.  Miss 
Faviel  took  his  stutterings  for  modesty,  and  his  care- 
fully guarded  contradictions  in  terms  for  evidences  of 
slow  but  honest  thinking;  and,  being  convinced  that 
Mr.  Wilton,  whose  affection  for  her  nephew  Richard 
was  obvious,  would  have  informed  her  at  once,  had 
he  known  anything  about  him  that  she  did  not  know, 
never  for  a  moment  supposed  that  he  was  fencing  with 
her  all  the  time.  In  fact,  Miss  Faviel  was  so  full  of 
her  own  schemes  and  opinions  that,  after  some  pre- 
liminaries regarding  Richard's  state  of  mind  previous 
to  his  disappearance,  his  finances,  and  so  forth,  she 
left  the  subject  of  what  Mr.  Wilton  might  know  or 
suppose  for  a  statement  of  her  own  plan  of  operation. 

"  The  first  step,  as  I  said  to  Miss  Cort  and  Dr. 
Bardie,  who  came  in  this  morning  just  before  Monarch 
and  I  started,  is  to  interview  the  Mallendons.  I  dare 
say  you  hadn't  thought  of  that,  Mr.  Wilton,  since,  as 
you  say,  you  have  only  met  them  the  once,  but  it  seems 
to  me  the  most  necessary  thing.  It  was  from  their 
house  Richard  disappeared.  He  has  frequently  spoken 
of  them  to  me.  I  do  not  connect  them  in  any  way 
with  his  disappearance,  of  course,  but  I  do  think  they 
may  be  able  to  throw  some  light  on  it.  So  if  you  will 
give  their  address  I  will  call  at  once." 

Mr.  Wilton  gave  it,  perforce,  with  the  result  that  a 


First  Appearance  of  Monarch          87 

couple  of  hours  later  Miss  Faviel  and  Monarch  again 
descended  upon  him. 

"  It  seems  that  they  have  just  gone  off,  this  morn- 
ing in  fact,  to  their  country  house,  which  is,  I  under- 
stand, fifty  miles  out  of  London.  Now,  I  don't  want 
to  bother  you,  Mr.  Wilton,  but  I  should  like  you  to 
do  me  a  service,  if  you  can.  I  have  got  my  usual 
rooms  at  the  Metropole  for  to-night,  but  to-morrow, 
or  perhaps  the  next  day,  I  wish  to  go  down  and  call 
on  Sir  Jasper  Mallendon.  Unfortunately,  as  I  think 
I  told  you,  railway  traveling  upsets  poor  Monarch, 
and  I  have  been  wondering  if  you  knew  where  I  could 
procure  a  motor-car,  and  a  clever  responsible  man  to 
drive  me  down.  Dr.  Bardie  was  saying  what  an  ex- 
cellent effect  motoring  has  upon  dogs.  I  should  go 
down,  say,  upon  Tuesday,  and  put  up  at  the  nearest 
village  for  a  night  or  so,  so  as  to  have  ample  time 
to  see  Sir  Jasper,  who  might  of  course  be  out  to  begin 
with.  If  you  know  of  such  a  thing " 

"  I  can  hire  a  car  easily  enough,"  said  Mr.  Wilton, 
"  and  get  a  decent  man,  I  dare  say.  It  won't  be  any 
trouble.  I'd  do  anything  for  Dick,  you  know." 

"  I'm  sure  you  would,"  said  Miss  Faviel. 

Mr.  Wilton  was  not  often  troubled  with  the  con- 
sciousness of  being  a  hypocrite,  but  he  was  on  this 
occasion,  though,  after  all,  he  had  only  spoken  the 
truth. 


CHAPTER  XIII 
HIGGINSON 

"  HIGGINSON  ?  " 

"  Yes,  miss." 

"  I  thought  I  told  you  to  come  and  change  the  pots 
in  the  greenhouse." 

Etta's  tone  was  pettish:  it  was  meant  to  be  severe. 
The  face  of  Mr.  Warley's  groom-gardener  fell  in  a 
kind  of  humorous  resignation,  as,  putting  down  the 
hoe  with  which  he  was  attacking  the  very  few  weeds 
which  had  managed  to  rear  themselves  in  the  trim 
rectory  borders,  he  advanced  to  the  greenhouse  in 
which  Miss  Etta  stood  with  a  pout  upon  her  lips. 

"  What  was  it  you  wanted  changed,  miss  ? "  he 
asked. 

Mr.  Faviel,  under  the  nom-de-guerre  of  Higginson, 
had  been  in  his  present  situation  for  just  over  a  fort- 
night. The  bright  idea  of  engaging  him  to  take  the 
place  of  the  recalcitrant  Jem  was,  Mr.  Warley  firmly 
believed,  his  own,  and  Etta  did  not  dispute  the  notion. 
On  the  contrary,  when  Mr.  Warley  actually  broached 
it,  which  he  fancied  he  did  of  his  own  accord,  Etta 
had  rather  joined  sides  with  her  mother  in  being 
alarmed  at  the  notion  of  engaging  a  man  who  was  a 
mere  tramp,  and  might  be  a  burglar. 

Perhaps  she  was  not  unaware  that  female  opposi- 
tion was  the  one  thing  calculated  to  make  her  father 
fixed  in  a  resolution. 


Higginson  89 

"  To  refuse  an  opportunity  of  employing  an  honest 
and  capable  young  fellow  merely  because  he  comes  to 
us  in  an  unusual  way  is,  to  my  mind,  absurd,"  said 
Mr.  Warley.  "  I  am  perfectly  prepared  to  admit  that 
it  is  not  desirable  to  make  the  thing  a  precedent,  but 
I  flatter  myself  that  I  have  a  certain  gift  of  reading 
character,  and  my  reading  in  this  case  is  satisfactory." 

"  If  the  house  is  broken  into?  "  said  Mrs.  Warley. 

"  I  shall  confess  myself  in  the  wrong." 

This  was  a  thing  Mr.  Warley  so  very  rarely  did  that 
he  was  not  perhaps  unjustified  in  holding  it  forth  as 
prospective  consolation  for  the  disaster  Mrs.  Warley 
feared. 

Mr.  Faviel  had  closed  with  the  offer  made  to  him 
on  much  the  same  grounds  as  those  on  which  Mr. 
Warley  made  it.  It  was  an  opportunity,  coming  in 
an  unusual  way,  of  taking  up  his  residence  in  that  part 
of  the  country  without  attracting  attention.  He  had 
told  Tod  Wilton  that  his  sole  plan  of  operations  was 
to  be  without  plans,  since  that,  in  his  opinion,  was 
the  safest  way  of  evading  pursuit.  In  this  case,  he  had 
not  planned  to  stop  Sir  Gawain  on  the  Waybury  road, 
nor  even  to  be  on  that  road.  He  had  simply  come 
upon  it  in  the  course  of  a  night's  walking  and  run- 
ning. Still  less  had  he  schemed  to  be  taken  into  the 
service  of  Mr.  Warley.  The  service  turned  up  a 
triumph  of  haphazard.  The  men  who  had  followed 
him  to  Haleden  Hoo,  whom  he  had  lost  sight  of,  and 
who  must  therefore  have  lost  sight  of  him  fifteen  miles 
away  at  least,  could  hardly  trace  him  to  the  room  over 
the  coach-house  at  Langston  Bucket,  except  by  as  mere 
a  chance  as  that  which  had  brought  him  there. 

By  the  rules  of  the  wager,  he  was  allowed  the  whole 
of  England  as  his  hiding-place,  a  stipulation  having 


90  Higginson 

been  made  that  he  should  not  go  outside  it.  That  was 
reasonable  enough,  as  Faviel  had  thought  at  the  time. 
And  now  he  thought,  with  forty-two  counties  at  his 
disposal,  there  was  no  reason  why  he  should  be  easily 
traced  to  this  one.  The  men  knew  that  he  disap- 
peared at  Haleden  Hoo,  but  he  had  to  start  some- 
where. They  had  no  grounds  for  supposing  that  he 
would  stop  in  or  near  his  starting-place. 

Here,  if  Mr.  Faviel  had  considered  it,  was  the  weak 
point,  both  of  his  reasoning  and  his  action.  True,  he 
had  stopped  at  Langston  Bucket  by  chance,  and  there 
was  no  reason  why  Mr.  Boke  should  theorize  as  to  his 
thereabouts.  But,  on  the  other  hand,  deliberately  or 
not,  he  had  come  to  stop  at  a  part  of  the  county  not 
very  remote  from  The  Ashlands — Sir  Jasper  Mallen- 
don's  country  house.  Then,  Mr.  Boke's  employer, 
whose  object  in  making  the  wager  was  largely  the 
removal  of  Faviel  from  the  Mallendon  sphere,  at  what 
he  considered  to  be  a  critical  time  in  his  relations  with 
Miss  Mallendon,  might  have  been  expected  at  least  to 
consider  the  possibility  of  that  object  being  circum- 
vented in  part  by  some  movement  on  Faviel's  side  not 
very  dissimilar  to  that  which  he  had  actually  made — 
by  disappearing,  in  short,  to  some  obscure  point  of 
vantage. 

Though  he  had  not  put  himself  sufficiently  into 
Blenkenstein's  position  to  anticipate  the  spoiling  of  his 
own  line  of  argument  by  this  counter-one,  Mr.  Faviel 
had  not  spent  his  fortnight  at  Langston  Bucket  with- 
out some  disturbance  of  his  security.  The  work  ex- 
pected of  him  was  not  the  trouble;  nor  would  the 
inevitable  feeling  of  uncertainty,  the  knowledge  that 
chance  might  go  against  him  and  the  blow  fall  upon 
him  at  any  moment,  have  weighed  upon  him  much  in 


Higginson  91 

the  ordinary  fashion.  No,  the  things  that  gave  him 
food  for  anxiety  were  different.  One  was  the  thought 
of  how  he  had  parted  from  Judith  Mallendon,  and 
what  she  would  think  of  him  for  so  doing;  the  other 
was  the  thought  of  how  he  was  to  avoid  entangling 
himself  with  Etta  Warley. 

This  last  and  minor,  but  not  unimportant,  consid- 
eration was  what  caused  Mr.  Faviel's  face  to  show 
a  resigned  humor,  as,  having  put  down  his  hoe,  he 
walked  to  where  Miss  Etta  stood  in  the  greenhouse. 

He  did  not  put  it  to  himself  that  she  had  fallen  in 
love  with  him,  though  a  less  modest  man  could  hardly 
have  failed  to.  What  he  had  to  allow  was  that  she 
had  prepared  herself  to  see  him  in  a  light  sufficiently 
romantic  to  make  the  notion  of  falling  in  love  not 
unpleasant. 

She  was  a  nice  child,  but  absurdly  innocent  and 
romantic.  Any  other  man,  if  she  could  have  scented 
a  mystery  in  him,  would  have  served  her  purpose,  but 
Langston  Bucket  was  hardly  the  place  to  provide  any 
other  man  of  the  kind  required.  Meanwhile,  Mr. 
Faviel  was  the  hero  and  victim  in  one;  and  it  some- 
times made  him  feel  quite  grandfatherly  and  benef- 
icent ;  at  others,  a  wretched  hypocrite. 

If  only  Mrs.  Warley  had  not  got  over  her  first  sus- 
picions of  Higginson,  she  might  have  been  of  material 
assistance.  Unluckily,  Dick's  genial  politeness,  coupled 
with  his  successful  treatment  of  the  kitchen  chimney 
one  afternoon,  when  it  caught  fire,  in  the  rector's  ab- 
sence, had  quite  changed  her  opinions  of  the  new 
groom,  and  she  had  reverted  to  her  natural  state  of 
mind,  which  was  one  of  trustful  simplicity. 

Etta  had  her  own  way,  in  fact.  It  consisted  largely 
in  superintending  Higginson's  work  in  the  garden  in 


92  Higginson 

a  kind  but  strict  manner,  or  in  making  him  drive  her 
about  the  parish  on  charitable  business.  The  villagers 
had  received  such  attentions  from  Miss  Etta  during 
the  past  few  days  as  they  had  never  known  before. 
The  groom  drove  her  to  each  cottage  in  turn ;  she  de- 
scended, a  pretty  Miss  Bountiful,  such  as  might  im- 
press the  veriest  wretch. 

It  was  not  humbug,  but  the  natural  desire  to  please, 
and  influence,  somebody  who,  she  was  quite  sure,  was 
in  some  way  a  ne'er-do-well.  His  retrospective  wild- 
ness  made  him  perfectly  romantic;  only,  of  course,  it 
must  not  recur — the  wildness  mustn't.  He  might  not 
be  destined  to  greatness,  but,  at  least,  she  could  aid 
into  right  paths  this  handsome  young  man.  By  being 
good  and  dignified,  as  well  as  pretty,  she  could  not 
fail  to  impress  him.  And  indeed,  while  she  was  dig- 
nified, Higginson  was  apparently  impressed:  it  was 
when  she  became  kindly  and  stooped  to  conquer,  that 
he  wasn't  grateful.  She  could  not  explain  what  it  was 
in  his  behavior  that  annoyed  her,  unless  it  was  his  want 
of  intelligence.  Now,  for  example,  when  one  would 
have  supposed  that  he  would  have  so  humbly  adored 
her  as  to  be  counting  the  moments  when  he  might 
shift  flower-pots  under  her  eye,  instead  of  coming  at 
the  time  she  had  named,  he  had  forgotten  all  about  it. 
It  was  humiliating,  and  she  resented  it. 

She  was  in  a  state  of  high  resentment  at  the  present 
moment. 

"  I  imagined  that  I  had  told  you  that  I  wanted  the 
chrysanthemums  moved,"  she  said.  "  If  they're  not 
too  heavy  for  you,  of  course.  In  that  case  I'll  do 
them  myself." 

Dick  concealed  a  smile  at  the  babe-like  irony,  and 
set  about  the  business  of  moving  the  chrysanthemums 


Higginson  93 

with  a  great  pretense  of  assiduity.  Etta,  superintend- 
ing, made  him  take  three  pots  at  a  time,  by  way  of 
punishment,  and  would  not  talk  for  several  minutes; 
not,  indeed,  until  Dick,  having  inadvertently  dropped 
a  pot,  which  crashed  to  pieces  on  the  stone  floor,  still 
more  inadvertently  said  "  Damn !  "  adding,  without  no- 
ticing the  lapse — "  I'm  sorry,  miss.  I  hope  it  wasn't 
a  valuable  one." 

Miss  Etta  was  all  shocked  dignity. 

"  The  pot  does  not  matter,"  she  said.  "  But  I  am 
sorry,  very  sorry,  that  you  should  dare  to  use  such 
language  in  my  presence." 

"  What  did  I  say  ?  "  asked  the  abashed  Higginson. 

"  Never  mind !  "  said  Etta. 

"Was  it ?" 

"Higginson!" 

Dick  turned  away  to  conceal  a  grin  at  the  assump- 
tion of  modesty. 

"  It  was  a  slip,  miss,"  he  announced,  between 
coughs. 

"  I  hope  so,"  said  Etta,  "  and  I  hope  you  will  never, 
never  make  such  a  slip  again." 

This  sentiment,  having  been  delivered  in  a  tone 
altogether  crushing,  and  Higginson  appearing  unusu- 
ally contrite,  she  was  restored  to  her  natural  good 
spirits,  and  in  a  very  little  while  conversation  was 
flowing  in  the  desired  channels.  The  fact  is,  Etta,  who 
had  been  visited  by  some  friends  of  hers,  the  Mordants, 
in  the  morning,  had  a  piece  of  news  to  communicate 
which  she  would  have  rejoiced  to  tell  any  one,  and  felt 
would  particularly  impress  Higginson.  She  entered 
upon  it  without  much  subtlety. 

"  Have  you  ever  seen  a  play,  Higginson  ? "  she 
inquired. 


94  Higginson 

Higginson  admitted  that  he  had. 

"  I  suppose,"  said  Etta,  "  that  you  thought  the 
actresses  very  beautiful." 

Higginson  admitted  that  he  did,  as  he  was  sup- 
posed to. 

"  Well,"  said  Etta,  "  what  do  you  think,  Higginson? 
I'm  going  to  be  an  actress !  " 

"You  don't  say  it?" 

Etta  nodded. 

"  In  some  amateur  theatricals  which  Lady  Mallen- 
don  is  going  to  give  on  behalf  of  a  charity  at  The 
Ashlands." 

"Lady  Mallendon?" 

She  did  not  notice  his  question,  but  went  on,  full 
of  herself — 

"  Many  people  think  that  amateur  theatricals  are 
often  better  done  than  real  professional  ones.  But 
anyhow  this  ought  to  be  splendid.  It's  so  kind  of 
Lady  Mallendon,  isn't  it,  to  do  it  for  a  charity?  I 
dare  say,  if  you're  very  anxious  for  it,  Higginson,  you 
would  be  allowed  to  go  over  and  see  it  with  the  other 
servants — as  I'm  acting." 

"  Thanky,"  said  Higginson,  who  was  considering 
the  offer.  "  It  would  be  a  fine  sight." 

"  You  don't  seem  very  curious  to  know  what  part  I 
am  to  take,"  said  Etta  reproachfully. 

"  I'd  like  to  know,  miss." 

"  Well,"  said  Etta,  "  it's  not  exactly  what  is  called 
a  big  part.  Miss  Muriel  Mordant  was  to  have  taken 
it,  but  she's  ill.  That's  why  Mrs.  Mordant  came  over 
this  morning  to  ask  me  if  I  would  play  it  instead. 
Lady  Mallendon  thought  I  would  be  just  the  person 
when  Mrs.  Mordant  suggested  it.  There's  a  Princess 
in  the  play,  and  she's  going  to  be  done  by  Miss  Mai- 


Higginson  95 

lendon.  I'm  to  be  her  maid.  It's  rather  curious,  isn't 
it,  Higginson,  that  I  should  be  a  maid  ?  " 

Etta  languished  a  little. 

"  It  is,  miss,  very  curious.  I  should  hardly  think," 
said  Higginson  cautiously,  "  that  you'd  know  how  to 
do  it,  being  a  young  lady." 

It  was  this  sort  of  dullness  that  exasperated  Miss 
Warley. 

"  Of  course  you  don't  understand.  Acting — is — it's 
a  matter  of  temperament.  If  you  have  the  imagina- 
tion, you  can  be  anything.  I  believe  I  could  be  a — a 
scullery  maid,  if  I  worked  myself  up.  And  " — Etta 
spoke  with  great  unconcern — "  if  you  had  the  tem- 
perament, you  could  be  a  Prince." 

"  Law,"  said  Dick,  "  I  don't  think  that  would  be 
much  in  my  line." 

If  only  he  wouldn't  use  those  vulgar  expressions  at 
such  moments,  Etta  thought.  She  almost  preferred 
the  wicked  ones. 

"  Don't  you  ever  feel  ambitious,  Higginson  ?  Don't 
you  ever  want  to  rise  above  your  position  ?  "  she  asked 
impatiently.  There  was  a  little  extra  glow  in  her 
healthy  cheeks,  and  her  eyes  sparkled:  danger  signals 
to  the  wary  groom-gardener. 

He  pondered  the  question  with  the  sobriety  due  to 
•his  assumed  profession. 

"  I  don't  know,"  he  said  at  last,  "  but  what  I  haven't 

fancied  butlering  in  a  big  house But  there's  the 

responsibility,  miss." 

Etta  flounced  out  of  the  greenhouse  in  a  rage. 
Higginson  might  look  handsome,  and  dashing,  and 
romantic,  but  he  had  a  prosaic  soul.  How  could  his 
highest  ambition  be  to  become  a  butler  ? 

She  took  her  bicycle,  intending  to  go  for  a  ride  to 


96  Higginson 

soothe  her  wounded  feelings.  Passing  a  respectably 
dressed  man  whom  she  had  seen  once  or  twice  of  late 
in  the  village,  she  said  to  herself,  "  He  might  be  a 
butler  " — and  thought  the  less  of  Higginson. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

MR.    BOKE   ON   THE   TRAIL 

THE  days  that  had  intervened  between  the  night  of 
Mr.  Faviel's  successful  evasion  of  Blenkenstein's  de- 
tective agent  and  the  afternoon  upon  which  Miss  Etta 
Warley  went  out  for  the  ride  on  her  bicycle,  had  been 
spent  by  Mr.  Boke  in  no  idle  fashion. 

His  presence  in  Langston  Bucket— for  that  it  was 
Mr.  Boke  whom  Etta  took  for  a  typical  butler  may 
be  at  once  confessed — had  been  a  good  deal  more  fre- 
quent than  Etta  or  any  one  else  supposed.  For  three 
or  four  days  past  in  fact  Mr.  Boke — who  would  have 
given  his  name,  if  challenged,  as  Captain  Bunbury 
(retired)  and  his  address  as  "  The  Windmill,"  Hang- 
ing Coppice — had  been  keeping  an  eye  on  the  rector's 
new  groom-gardener. 

How  had  Mr.  Boke  arrived  at  Langston  Bucket  in 
the  first  instance  ?  By  no  mere  chance,  nor  yet — as  he 
himself  would  have  been  the  first  to  allow — by  the 
help  of  any  profound  a  priori  reasoning.  When  Mr. 
Boke  drew  his  men  off  the  prostrate  bodies  of  Mr. 
Maxhaven  and  Tod  Wilton  about  half-a-mile  from  the 
station  of  Haleden  Hoo — having  discovered  that  his 
proper  quarry  had  escaped,  things  appeared  to  the  de- 
tective about  as  black  as  they  could  be.  There  was 
no  precise  good  in  attempting  to  pursue  a  man  by 
night  who  had  got  twenty  minutes'  start  over  an  un- 
known country,  and  Mr.  Boke  had  not  attempted  it. 

97 


98  Mr.  Boke  on  the  Trail 

His  immediate  business  was  to  make  sure  that  the 
two  gentlemen  whom  he  had  so  mistakenly  assaulted 
— and  of  whose  identity  he  was  ignorant — should  not 
succeed  in  placing  the  police  upon  his  track,  as  they 
might  not  unreasonably  be  expected  to  do.  The  posi- 
tion of  the  hunted  hunter  was  not  one  that  appealed 
to  Mr.  Boke.  Accordingly  he  dismissed  his  two  fol- 
lowers in  different  directions,  and  himself,  having 
walked  about  till  he  was  weary,  took  a  workmen's 
train  up  to  London  in  the  morning. 

At  eleven  o'clock  the  next  day  Mr.  Boke  went  to 
communicate  the  result  of  his  night's  raiding  to  Blen- 
kenstein.  It  was  a  humiliating  thing  to  have  to  do, 
but  no  other  course  was  open  to  him.  If  the  youth  at 
the  inquiry  office  could  have  known  what  feelings 
animated  Mr.  Boke  on  this  occasion  of  his  second  visit 
he  might  have  had  his  revenge.  Luckily,  he  could  not 
know,  and  meekly  conducted  Mr.  Boke  to  his  em- 
ployer's presence. 

"  Well  ?  "  said  Blenkenstein  eagerly. 

"  Gone  away,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Boke  with  sadness. 

Blenkenstein's  face,  which  had  been  almost  puckered 
with  anxiety,  cleared. 

"Good!  "he  said. 

Mr.  Boke  marveled  at  this  cheerful  receipt  of  the 
news  of  his  unsuccess. 

The  fact  was  that  it  came  as  an  intense  relief  to 
Blenkenstein.  Almost  as  soon  as  he  had,  on  the  night 
of  the  Mallendon  At  Home,  in  a  fit  of  temper  given 
the  signal  which  was  to  effect  Faviel's  capture,  Blen- 
kenstein had  repented  of  it.  He  wanted  to  win  the 
wager,  but  he  realized  now  he  wanted  Faviel  out  of 
the  way  far  more.  There  was  no  reason  to  suppose 
that  Faviel  had  proposed  that  night.  (Later  Lady 


Mr.  Boke  on  the  Trail  99 

Mallendon  hinted  that  such  a  thing  could  not  have 
been  possible,  considering  Mr.  Faviel  had  been  in  the 
conservatory  for  little  over  a  minute.)  Consequently 
there  was  no  reason  for  Blenkenstein  to  prevent  him 
from  disappearing — so  far  as  Judith  Mallendon  was 
concerned — but  every  reason  to  help  him  to  disappear, 
until  such  time  as  he  might  be  brought  to  light,  a  loser 
both  of  the  money  and  the  maid.  Yet  by  giving  the 
signal  Blenkenstein  had  almost  risked  losing  what  was 
to  him  more  than  half  the  stake.  Moreover,  he  had 
since  reflected  that  in  setting  Boke  on  the  track  before 
the  time  limit  was  up,  he  had  in  any  case  risked  more 
than  was  really  worth  while.  Suppose  the  arbiters 
had  got  an  inkling  of  it  and  made  him  forfeit  his 
money ! 

"  Tell  me  what  happened,"  he  said,  to  the  highly 
astonished  Mr.  Boke. 

Mr.  Boke  related  what  had  happened,  making  the 
best,  it  must  be  allowed,  of  his  own  achievements  in 
the  matter,  and  glozing  over  anything  that  might  ap- 
pear to  reflect  discredit  upon  his  management. 

"  It  was  the  darkness  did  it,"  he  concluded.  "  A 
cat  couldn't  ha'  seen  to  catch  a  mouse  that  night,  and 
no  wonder  we  went  for  the  wrong  'uns." 

"  You  don't  know  who  they  were  ?  "  Blenkenstein 
inquired,  rather  amused  by  the  notion  of  his  employes 
rolling  two  unknown  gentlemen  in  the  dust. 

"  No,  I  don't.    Too  dark,  sir." 

"  And  they  couldn't  have  recognized  you  ?  " 

"  Not  if  they'd  bin  my  brothers,  sir,"  said  Mr. 
Boke. 

"  You  don't  think,"  said  Blenkenstein,  "  there  could 
possibly  have  been  any  collusion  between  them  and  Mr. 
Faviel?  You're  sure  of  that?  Well,  it  doesn't  much 


ioo  Mr.  Boke  on  the  Trail 

matter  if  the  train  you  went  down  by  was  the  12:20, 
as  you  say." 

The  time  of  the  train  was,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  one 
of  the  points  that  Mr.  Boke  had  made  the  most  of, 
since,  without  confiding  reasons,  Blenkenstein  had  em- 
phasized the  importance  of  not  appearing  to  be  on  the 
track  before  midnight. 

"  Oh,  yes,  we  kept  instructions,  sir." 

"Except  that  you  didn't  catch  your  man,  eh? 
However,"  said  Blenkenstein,  who  could  be  magnani- 
mous when  things  were  going  well  with  him,  "  as  it 
happens,  I  don't  mind  about  that,  provided,  of  course, 
you  can  get  on  to  his  tracks  again  soon.  I  want  him 
watched  now,  not  shown  up.  I  want  you  to  be  so  sure 
of  him  that  any  moment  I  decide  on  I  can  go  up  to 
him  and  put  a  letter  in  his  hand." 

It  may  be  mentioned  here  that  the  token  of  failure 
on  Faviel's  part  and  success  on  Blenkenstein's  was  to 
consist,  by  the  decision  of  O'Levin's  guests,  in  a 
letter  written  by  Mr.  Blenkenstein  being  put  into 
Faviel's  hands.  It  obviated,  in  the  court's  opinion,  the 
necessity  of  reducing  the  contest  in  the  last  event  to  a 
physical  struggle. 

"  I  understand,"  said  Mr.  Boke. 

"  And  you  think  you  can  see  to  it?  " 

"  Why,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Boke,  who  did  not  see  to  that 
happy  eventuality  at  all  clearly,  "  I  won't  say  that  the 
job  is  a  certain  one.  It  isn't.  It's  a  difficult  job.  If 
my  instructions  had  been  similar  in  the  first  place, 
merely  keeping  a  eye  on  the  gentleman,  that  is,  it 
might  have  been  easier.  He's  off  the  line  now." 

"  You  let  him  off,"  said  Blenkenstein  angrily.  "  If 

you  can't  manage  to  find  him,  somebody  else "  he 

checked  himself.  He  did  not  wish  to  put  Mr.  Boke 


Mr.  Boke  on  the  Trail  101 

against  him.  "  Look  here,  man,  you  must  do  your 
best.  There's  no  great  difficulty." 

"  Needles,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Boke,  "  in  haystacks  there's 
no  great  difficulty  in  rinding,  providing  you  know 
which  corner  to  look  in.  Tell  me  the  likely  corner,  and 
if  house-to-house  visiting  '11  do  it,  I'll  do  it." 

Blenkenstein  reflected.  He  was  a  far  shrewder  man 
than  any  one  acquainted  only  with  his  heavy  manner 
would  have  supposed. 

"  You  don't  seem  very  hopeful  about  it,"  he  said. 
"  But  there's  one  hint  I  can  give  you.  If  he's  to  be 
found  anywhere,  it'll  be  within  some  sort  of  radius  of 
Sir  Jasper  Mallendon's  house,  The  Ashlands." 

"You're  pretty  sure  of  that,  sir?"  said  Mr.  Boke, 
taking  down  the  address  in  his  notebook. 

"  I  happen  to  know,"  said  Blenkenstein,  "  that  he 
might  want  to  communicate  with  some  one  stopping 
there." 

"  Then,"  said  Mr.  Boke,  "  I  have  no  doubts,  no 
doubts  at  all,  that  we  shall  be  able  to  communicate  with 
him." 

Old  Mr.  Mole  was  ultimately  the  means  of  war- 
ranting this  bold  statement,  but  only  after  several  days 
spent  in  such  assiduous  investigation  of  out-of-the- 
way  villages,  farms,  and  townlets,  within  a  twelve- 
mile  radius  of  The  Ashlands,  that  the  usual  almost 
imperceptible  weakness  of  Mr.  Boke's  legs  had  de- 
generated into  a  veritable  hobble. 

Mr.  Mole  was  leaning,  as  was  his  habit,  upon  his 
garden-gate,  looking  upon  the  view  which  it  com- 
manded of  Farmer  Peats's  home-mead  and  pond, 
backed  by  blackthorn  and  a  single  elm.  Farmer 
Peats's  cows  were  standing  knee-deep  in  this  pond  at 
the  moment  when  the  stranger  sauntering  by  stopped 


IO2  Mr.  Boke  on  the  Trail 

opposite  Mr.  Mole,  and,  following  the  latter's  gaze, 
which  appeared  to  be  fixed  on  the  cows,  remarked  in 
an  enthusiastic  voice : 

"  Beautiful  they  look,  standing  in  the  water  like 
that." 

It  was  Mr.  Boke's  way  to  open  his  conversations 
in  a  natural  and  lively  manner,  calculated  to  induce  a 
corresponding  ease. 

Mr.  Mole,  who  was  not  easily  won  over,  re- 
plied : 

"Ah?" 

"  I  said  the  cows  look  nice  standing  in  the  water  like 
that." 

Mr.  Mole,  without  shifting  his  gaze  in  any  way, 
returned : 

"  That's  to  keep  the  flies  off  of  'em." 

"  You  don't  say  so,"  said  Mr.  Boke,  somewhat 
rebuffed. 

"  That's  what  the  cows  are  stannin'  theer  for,"  said 
Mr.  Mole,  "  to  keep  the  flies  off  of  'em.  Swotty  they 
do  feel  these  warm  days,  just  like  me  an'  you.  That's 
why  they  go  to  the  water." 

"  I  didn't  know  that,"  said  Mr.  Boke,  apparently 
impressed. 

Mr.  Mole  shifted  his  grip  of  the  gate  slightly,  and 
turned  his  gaze  upon  this  ignoramus. 

"  It  isn't  much  you  know  about  cattle  then,  I 
dessay,"  he  remarked  condescendingly. 

"  I  don't,"  said  Mr.  Boke.  "  It's  not  my  line.  I 
dare  say  you  know  plenty  though,  eh?" 

"  Whoy,"  said  Mr.  Mole,  "  I  never  warn't  a  cow- 
man mysel',  but  on  an'  off  I've  had  to  do  wi'  'em,  on 
an'  off  as  you  mid  say,  for  ninety  year." 

His  age  was  Mr.  Mole's  great  pride,  and  Mr.  Boke 


Mr.  Boke  on  the  Trail  103 

almost  lost  his  chance  by  going  on  the  wrong  tack 
with  regard  to  it. 

"  Ninety  years !  You  don't  mean  to  tell  me  you're 
ninety?  " 

"  Come  Michemas,"  said  Mr.  Mole  proudly.  "  An' 
I  ain't  done  yet,  what's  more.  I  ain't  done  yet." 

"  You  don't  look  it,"  said  Mr.  Boke.  "  If  you  asked 
me,  I'd  put  you  down  at  sixty-five." 

Intended  to  propitiate  Mr.  Mole,  this  compliment 
failed  of  its  purpose. 

"  Ninety  year  I  be,  come  Michemas — and  if  you're 
doubting  it,  ye  can  go  an'  ask  parson,  as  can  show  you 
it  writ  in  the  regingster,  how  ther'  ain't  a  older  man 
not  for  miles  round." 

Mr.  Mole  looked  so  offended,  that  there  was  nothing 
for  it  but  self-humiliation  on  the  part  of  Mr.  Boke. 

"  I  don't  doubt  it — not  for  a  moment,"  he  said.  "I 
only  meant,  you  know,  that  you  look  smarter  than 
many  younger  men." 

"  I  ain't  a  fool,"  said  Mr.  Mole  sullenly.  "  I  ain't 
a  fool." 

Mr.  Boke  perceived  signs  of  relenting,  and  whipped 
in. 

"  That's  what  I  mean.  You're  smart.  You  know 
pretty  well  what's  up.  I  dare  say  there's  not  another 
man  now,  in  the  village,  who  knows  more  about  what's 
going  on." 

"  Reck'n  there  iddn't,"  said  Mr.  Mole  modestly. 

"  Folks  changing,"  said  the  wily  Boke.  "  Some 
going,  others  coming,  eh  ?  " 

"  Not  much,"  said  Mr.  Mole,  inclined  to  support  his 
reputation  now  that  it  was  acknowledged.  "  Ole 
George  Datton,  they  calls  'im  ole,  but  he  iddn't  near 
as  ole  as  me — he's  gone,  died  after  eatin'  o'  rasperry 


IO4  Mr.  Boke  on  the  Trail 

pie,  'is  own  rasperries  what  he  picked  hisself  in  the 
mornin',  and  his  granddarter  cooked  for  'im.  Ate  'em 
for  dinner,  ole  George  did,  an'  a  corpse  he  was  afore 
eight  o'clock  the  same  night.  Yes,  ole  George  Datton's 
gone,  but  I  don't  reck'n  there's  nobbudy  else." 

"  Any  one  come?  "  suggested  Mr.  Boke. 

Mr.  Mole  shook  his  head. 

"  Iddn't  likely  as  nobbudy  'ud  come  here.  What  'ud 
they  come  for?  Work?  There  iddn't  enough  work, 
not  for  them  as  is  here  already.  Look  at  my  grand- 
son, Jem  Mole,  chucked  outer  his  place  by  some  Lun- 
noner  or  other  what  parson  picked  up  on  the  road." 

"  A  Londoner  ?  "  said  Mr.  Boke,  pricking  up  his 
ears. 

"  I'd  reck'n  that's  what  he  be.  I  wouldn't  trust  'im 
mysel'.  Calls  hidself  a  coachman.  Whoy,  there  he 
be!" 

The  sound  of  hoofs  on  the  road  had  been  audible 
for  a  minute  or  two,  and  even  as  Mr.  Mole  spoke,  the 
rector's  dogcart  went  by.  On  the  box-seat,  only  half- 
disguised  by  his  livery,  sat  Mr.  Faviel. 

"  Not  further  than  I  could  see  'im,  I  wouldn't  trust 
'im,"  said  Mr.  Mole  vindictively,  and  was  disappointed 
to  see  that  the  stranger,  who  had  struck  him  as  a 
pleasant  kind  of  gossip,  was  walking  down  the  road. 

Mr.  Boke  sent  off  news  of  his  discovery  to  London 
that  same  afternoon,  and  it  was  the  reply  letter  which 
he  received  from  Blenkenstein  that  caused  him  to  go 
off  the  next  'day,  and  rent,  for  the  period  of  three 
months,  "  The  Windmill,"  Hanging  Coppice,  under  the 
name  of  Captain  Bunbury. 

Mr.  Boke  had  struck  the  Mill  in  the  course  of  his 
wanderings,  and  it  seemed  just  the  place  for  a  man 
who  hopes  to  get  "  some  small  cottage,  handy,  where 


Mr.  Boke  on  the  Trail  105 

you  can  keep  watch  without  being  noticeable,"  as  Blen- 
kenstein  advised.  A  mill  was  just  the  place,  moreover, 
that  would  take  the  fancy  of  a  retired  seafaring  cap- 
tain, who  would  employ  a  couple  of  his  old  hands, 
Bilks  and  Coppenwell,  to  run  it  for  him.  Captain  Bun- 
bury,  it  must  be  remembered,  had  been  established  in 
his  new  lodgings  for  some  days,  on  the  afternoon  when 
Etta  went  out  riding  her  bicycle,  and  seeing  him  stand- 
ing about  took  him  for  a  butler. 

He  had  received  further  instructions  from  his  em- 
ployer only  that  morning,  instructions  the  nature  of 
which  will  be  revealed  in  their  proper  place. 

Meanwhile,  he  was  keeping  watch. 


CHAPTER  XV 

ANOTHER   MOTOR-CAR   ACCIDENT 

"  I  THINK,"  said  Miss  Faviel,  "  that,  thanks  to  you, 
Mr.  Wilton,  I  may  consider  myself  comfortably  settled 
for  the  night  or  two  that  I  intend  to  stop.  I  dare  say 
Monarch  will  not  sleep  well.  He  rarely  does  away 
from  home.  But  the  drive  down  has  done  him  won- 
ders." 

"  Then  I'd  better  be  off,"  said  Tod. 

If  any  one  had  told  him  two  days  ago  that  in  two 
days  he  would  be  standing  with  Miss  Faviel  and  Mon- 
arch in  the  chief  room  of  the  "  Sow  and  Pigs,"  Way- 
bury's  principal  inn,  having  driven  them  down  previ- 
ously in  a  hired  motor-car,  he  would  have  utterly  dis- 
credited the  statement.  Yet  the  reasons  which  had 
brought  him  to  it  were  not  so  very  complex.  Even 
before  Miss  Faviel  descended  upon  him  in  Dick's 
rooms  with  the  announcement  that  she  was  going  to 
call  on  the  Mallendons,  with  a  view  to  gathering  any 
information  that  might  throw  light  upon  her  nephew's 
mysterious  disappearance — with  the  request,  more- 
over, that  Mr.  Wilton  would  procure  her  a  chauffeur 
and  a  motor-car,  as  she  intended  to  drive  down,  and 
put  up  at  the  inn  nearest  to  The  Ashlands — Tod  had 
been  pondering  as  to  what  he  ought  to  do  in  Faviel's 
interests.  The  news  of  Blenkenstein's  engagement, 
or  provisional  engagement,  had  caused  Mr.  Wilton  to 
wonder  if  he  ought  not  to  try  and  communicate  with 

106 


Another  Motor-Car  Accident          107 

Faviel.  The  horrible  sense  of  fiasco  arising  from  the 
interview  with  Miss  Mallendon  had  caused  Mr.  Wilton 
to  feel  that  some  sort  of  communication  was  a  vital 
necessity.  Only,  how  was  he  to  do  his  duty?  Dick 
had  disappeared,  nobody  knew  where.  An  agony  ad- 
vertisement in  the  "  Morning  Post  "  occurred  to  Tod 
as  a  possible  solution,  but  he  was  not  of  a  literary  turn, 
and  the  difficulties  of  conveying  the  truth  in  a  suitable 
disguise,  seemed  to  him,  after  a  couple  of  hours  spent 
with  a  fountain  pen  and  many  sheets  of  notepaper, 
insuperable.  If  he  asked  Dick  to  meet  him,  Blenken- 
stein  would  probably  read  it,  and  not  Dick.  Or  they 
both  would,  and  Tod,  having  already  ruined  Dick's 
affairs  with  Miss  Mallendon,  would  precipitate  him 
bodily  into  the  hands  of  the  enemy. 

Miss  Faviel's  advent,  full  of  purpose,  suggested  to 
Tod  the  only  conceivable  way  of  beginning  to  approach 
the  object  he  had  in  view.  Dick  had  persisted  in  giving 
him  no  inkling  of  the  probable  route  of  his  disappear- 
ance, on  the  ground  that  he  was  going  to  vanish  at 
random,  and  as  the  mood  took  him.  But  it  occurred 
to  Tod  now,  as  it  had  occurred  to  Blenkenstein  before, 
that  that  mood  might  take  him  at  one  time  or  another 
into  the  neighborhood  of  The  Ashlands.  The  idea 
came  naturally  enough  to  Blenkenstein,  seeing  it  was 
to  prevent  this  very  happening  that  he  had  worked  up 
the  wager.  To  Tod,  it  came  in  a  flash  of  inspiration, 
upon  which,  not  being  used  to  flashes  of  inspiration, 
he  at  once  began  to  cast  doubts.  If  there  was  one 
thing  more  certain  than  another,  it  was  that  Dick 
would  not  do  the  thing  expected  of  him.  But  then,  he, 
Tod,  had  not  expected  him  to  make  his  hiding-place 
near  The  Ashlands.  He  only  suggested  it  to  himself, 
probably  quite  wrongly. 


io8         Another  Motor-Car  Accident 

In  the  end,  however,  it  seemed  obvious  that  what- 
ever might  be  the  value  of  the  inspiration,  it  was  the 
only  thing  that  offered  an  activity-compelling  solution 
of  the  puzzle.  Activity  was  what  Mr.  Wilton  longed 
for. 

The  next  morning,  having  discovered  over  his  break- 
fast that  Haleden  Hoo  was  on  the  main  line,  from 
which  a  branch  led  to,  among  other  places,  Waybury, 
only  six  miles  from  The  Ashlands,  a  discovery  which 
seemed  to  confirm  the  inspiration  of  the  previous  night, 
Tod,  having  thought  the  plan  well  over  half  a  dozen 
times  at  least,  offered  himself  as  chauffeur  to  Miss 
Faviel.  This  was  on  a  Tuesday.  Miss  Faviel  ac- 
cepted with  pleasure.  On  Wednesday,  shortly  before 
Miss  Etta  Warley  went  out  for  her  ride,  Mr.  Wilton 
was  bidding  good-by  to  Miss  Faviel,  not  without  some 
misgivings  as  to  her  future  proceedings. 

"  I  hope  Monarch  will  sleep,"  he  said,  lingering. 

"  He  may,"  said  Miss  Faviel,  "  if  the  landlady 
doesn't  worry  him  too  much." 

The  landlady,  while  welcoming  Miss  Faviel,  had 
been  a  little  doubtful  of  Monarch,  as  a  resident  of  her 
best  parlor,  which  contained,  amongst  other  treasures, 
a  stuffed  seagull  and  some  vases  brought  from  a  place 
called  China  by  her  husband's  brother  who  was  a 
sailor.  She  was  afraid  that  Monarch  might  injure 
these. 

"  Never  a  dog,"  as  she  said,  "  haven't  step  inside 
the  parlor  since  that  there  sea  bird  and  them  pots  was 
put  up.  And  speaking  in  general,  ma'am,  I  don't  hold 
with  dogs,  not  in  people's  best  rooms.  But  if  as  you 
say  he's  a  quiet  one ?  " 

"  Entirely,"  said  Miss  Faviel. 

"  Well,  he  do  look  it,"  said  the  landlady.     "  And 


Another  Motor-Car  Accident          109 

being  stout  for  his  size,  which  is  more,  if  you'll  pardon 
me,  ma'am,  for  saying  it,  that  of  a  hedge-pig  than  any 
dog  I've  ever  seen  before,  maybe  he  isn't  much  of  a 
lepper." 

Miss  Faviel  had  assured  her  that  Monarch's  bound- 
ing capacity  was  small,  and  the  landlady  had  beaten 
a  retreat  before  Monarch's  tinkling  growl. 

"  I  hardly  think  she  will  worry  him  much,"  said 
Mr.  Wilton,  smiling  at  the  recollection.  "  Well,  then, 
good-by.  And  you  will  let  me  know  if  you  find  out 
anything,  or  if  I  can  be  of  any  use." 

Miss  Faviel  promised. 

"  There  is  only  one  thing,"  she  added,  as  Tod  took 
up  his  hat  to  go.  "  It  seems  to  me  that  I  ought  to 
seize  every  opportunity  I  can,  and  I  think,  conse- 
quently, of  acquainting  the  local  constable  with  an 
outline  of  Richard's  case.  If  by  any  chance  Richard 
should  have  come  into  these  parts,  and  of  course  he 
might  be  anywhere,  the  man  might  hear  of  it.  Coun- 
try policemen  are  often  highly  intelligent  men.  Our 
own  man,  Muttle,  at  home,  knows  every  one  by  sight 
for  miles  round.  What  I  was  going  to  say  was  this : 
would  you  do  me  the  further  favor  of  leaving  a  mes- 
sage at  the  local  constabulary  on  your  way,  asking 
him  to  come  up  and  have  a  chat  with  me  ?  " 

Tod  undertook  the  message,  and,  having  found  the 
honeysuckle-covered  cottage  in  which  Mr.  Bigstock 
lived  for  a  warning  to  all  evil-doers,  delivered  Miss 
Faviel's  request  to  Mrs.  Bigstock,  a  bonny  woman 
cumbered  with  many  little  Bigstocks.  Mr.  Bigstock 
himself  was  out  on  his  rounds. 

Mrs.  Bigstock  promised  that  her  husband  should 
call  at  the  "  Sow  and  Pigs  "  as  soon  as  he  returned. 

Then  Mr.  Wilton,  with  no  particular  object  in  his 


no         Another  Motor-Car  Accident 

mind  except  that  of  somehow  finding  Faviel  and 
warning  him  of  the  plots  and  counterplots  that  were 
being  woven  against  him,  set  his  car  spinning  along 
that  very  high  road  upon  which  sixteen  days  before  a 
car  had  caused  Sir  Gawain  to  run  away  with  Mr. 
Warley  and  his  daughter. 

Chance,  and  nothing  else,  ordained  that  Miss  Etta 
Warley,  miserably  bicycling  with  still  less  purpose  in 
her  mind,  should  have  turned  into  this  very  road.  One 
might,  of  course,  go  behind  chance  and  say  that,  sub- 
consciously and  in  spite  of  her  feeling  that  nothing 
mattered  very  much,  Etta  had  selected  this  road  as 
being  a  smooth  one  with  a  good  deal  of  shade  to  it. 

These  things  do  matter  when  one  is  on  a  bicycle  in 
the  heat  of  the  afternoon,  even  though  one's  wretched- 
ness is  apparently  complete. 

Could  she  indeed  have  conceived  a  passion  for  a 
man  whose  ideal  was  to  be  a  butler  ?  Could  a  man  for 
whom  she  might  have  conceived  a  hint  of  a  passion 
really  possess  no  higher  ideal  than  that  of  butlering  in 
a  big  house?  If  so,  life  was  indeed,  as  her  father 
often  said  (in  his  sermons),  no  better  than  a  vale  of 
tears,  and  Etta  could  feel  them  coming. 

In  a  little  while,  disappointment  tinged  with  maiden 
shame  did  actually  bring  them,  after  which,  embold- 
ened by  the  relief  which  tears  paradoxically  bring 
with  them,  Etta  fought  them  back. 

Life  no  doubt  was  a  vale  of  tears,  but  at  least  she 
would  not  be  so  weak  as  to  weep  over  such  a  thing  as 
this.  It  was  a  mistake  she  had  made,  that  was  all. 
Higginson  was  but  a  flunkey,  whom  she  had  most  fool- 
ishly endowed  with  romantic  attributes.  A  wretched 
mistake,  but  she  could  remedy  it.  A  single  life,  passed 
in  devotion  to  others,  was  not  without  its  charms — 


Another  Motor-Car  Accident          in 

would  not  be  without  its  rewards.  The  villagers  of 
Langston  Bucket  would  learn  to  bless  her  name.  They 
were  not  as  a  rule  very  grateful  for  assistance,  but 
she  would  compel  them  to  love  her.  Some  day,  when 
a  fatal  illness,  caught  in  going  her  charitable  rounds 
on  evenings  when  a  plowman  would  scarcely  venture 
out,  had  stricken  her  down,  they  would  come  about 
the  rectory  with  downcast  faces  and  wet  kerchiefs  to 
learn  the  latest  news  of  her,  to  hear  if  the  vital  spark 
was  still  alight. 

Already  this  pathetic  prospect  made  her  feel  better, 
and  lest  her  heroism  should  depart  from  her,  she 
increased  the  speed  of  her  pedaling.  Speed  was 
lovely.  She  gained  an  immense  impetus  before  com- 
ing to  the  next  hill  down,  and  then  free-wheeled. 
Free-wheeling,  she  was  almost  fancy-free.  Free- 
wheeling, she  turned  a  corner  with  delicious  thrills, 
and  then,  with  a  sinking  sensation,  saw  a  motor  dash- 
ing towards  her.  Ever  since  the  accident  with  Sir 
Gawain,  Etta  had  had  a  nervous  feeling  at  sight  of  a 
motor. 

She  wobbled. 

Mr.  Wilton  drew  up  in  a  trice,  to  find  a  pale  but 
lovely  maiden  lying  with  closed  eyes  in  a  bunch  of 
grass  at  the  side  of  the  road.  He  was  afraid  that  he 
had  killed  her. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

MR.    WILTON   AS   SIR   LANCELOT 

"  You  really  think  you  can?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  Etta,  smiling.    "  Really." 

"  You  are  brave,"  said  Mr.  Wilton. 

Etta  smiled  again.  He  was  not  quite  like  Sir 
Lancelot,  not  nearly  so  much  so  as  Higginson  was, 
being  too  broad  and  just  a  little  short.  He  had  not 
the  clear-cut  features  of  Higginson,  or  rather  of  Sir 
Lancelot,  and  his  hair  was  so  short  and  bristly.  So 
was  his  mustache  which  covered  a  big — a  nice  big — 
mouth.  Moreover,  he  had  not  that  calm  self-posses- 
sion and  loftiness  of  mien  which  distinguished  Sir 
Lancelot  (according  to  tradition)  and  which  did,  with- 
out doubt,  distinguish  Higginson  at  the  present  time. 

But  then,  on  the  other  hand,  it  was  rather  nice  to 
have  some  one  really  humanely  disturbed  and  anxious 
about  one,  when  one  had  had  an  accident.  Not  that 
Mr.  Wilton's  perturbation  contributed  towards  his 
doing  the  right  thing  from  a  practical  point  of  view. 
He  had  leapt  down  in  the  most  frantic  haste  and  knelt 
beside  her,  calling  himself  all  sorts  of  names.  Then 
when  she  had  opened  her  eyes  with  a  faint  shiver,  he 
had  rushed  back  to  his  car,  and  got  out  a  spanner  and 
an  oil  can.  Had  Etta  positively  been  in  a  swoon,  he 
would  probably  have  succeeded  in  pouring  some  of  the 
contents  of  the  latter  down  her  throat.  He  tried  to. 
What  he  intended  to  do  with  the  spanner,  Etta  didn't 

112 


Mr.  Wilton  as  Sir  Lancelot  113 

know  even  now,  and  she  was  quite  sure  he  didn't.  In 
the  end  he  had  remembered  a  brandy  flask  and 
brought  it  to  her,  after  endless  routings  in  the  body 
of  the  car  and  applications  of  all  manner  of  fresh 
names  to  himself  for  not  having  thought  of  it  before. 

Higginson  no  doubt  would  have  thought  of  it  in  the 
first  instance — would  have  been  of  more  use  if  she  had 
been  dreadfully  injured  or  perhaps  dying.  But  as  she 
was  not  hurt  at  all,  and  had  only  closed  her  eyes  be- 
cause she  was  a  little  faint,  and  a  good  deal  shaken 
and  frightened  and  conscious  of  her  own  stupidity,  it 
was  ineffably  pleasanter  to  have  some  one  at  hand  like 
this  motorist,  so  distracted  as  not  to  be  able  to  dis- 
tinguish that  it  was  she  who  had  been  stupid  and  not 
he.  The  motorist  kept  saying  that  it  was  all  his  fault, 
and  that  he  should  never  forgive  himself,  and  would 
she  forgive  him — could  she  ? 

All  this  was  very  agreeable,  and  when  at  the  end  of 
five  minutes  Etta  maintained  that  she  was  quite  capa- 
ble of  getting  up  and  going  home,  and  he  replied  ad- 
miringly that  she  was  brave,  the  image  of  Sir  Lance- 
lot, once  her  ideal,  had  become  remarkably  indistinct. 

"  I'm  not  really  brave  at  all,"  she  said.  "  If  you'd 
said  stupid ! " 

"  You  couldn't  be  stupid  if  you  tried,"  said  Mr. 
Wilton.  "  I'm  stupid  if  you  like,  I  ought  to  have  seen 
you  coming.  And  it  was  very  brave  of  you  to  throw 
yourself  into  the  bank  like  that.  Any  other  girl  would 
have  lost  her  head." 

"  I  expect  I  really  lost  mine,"  said  Etta  modestly. 
"  Only  I've  got  it  again  now,  such  as  it  is." 

It  was  fair  and  fluffy,  above  big  blue  eyes  that  no 
poet  has  properly  sung,  and  a  little  nose  untilted,  and 
a  mouth  that  was  a  reasonable-sized  rosebud.  There 


U4  Mr.  Wilton  as  Sir  Lancelot 

have  been  maidens  like  this  before.  Perhaps,  when 
poets  have  wearied  of  singing  them,  their  charm  will 
remain — the  charm  of  the  healthy  and  persistent 
type. 

"  And  now  that  I've  got  it  again,"  Etta  continued, 
"  I  know  that  I  oughtn't  to  delay  you  like  this.  I  dare 
say  you  have  a  long  way  to  go." 

"  But  I  may  see  you  home  ?  "  said  Mr.  Wilton. 

"  I  can  walk  quite  well." 

"  I  could  drive  you  much  better.  I'd  go  like  a  snail. 
You  don't  trust  me." 

"  Oh,  but  I  do."  Etta  blushed  fascinatingly.  "  I 
will  ride  with  pleasure.  It  isn't  far." 

"Isn't  it?  "said  Mr.  Wilton. 

His  appreciation  of  the  shortness  of  the  distance 
seemed  so  inconsiderable  that  Etta  blushed  again,  as 
she  stepped  into  the  car.  Her  quick  fancy  was  already 
at  work,  making  pictures.  She  could  see  this  young 
man  having  won  her  father's  affections  by  his  almost 
filial  respect,  walking  up  and  down  the  trim  rectory 
garden,  drinking  in  information  from  the  elder  gentle- 
man concerning  dahlias  and  roses  and  hot-beds  and 
Virgil's  opinion  on  the  same,  if  any,  all  for  the  simple 
reward  of  coming  at  length  to  the  bow-windowed 
drawing-room,  jasmine-twined,  with  swallows  under 
the  eaves.  There  a  certain  person  would  be  sitting 
demurely,  her  agile  fingers  at  work  upon  some  old 
piece  of  tapestry,  or  its  modern  substitute,  a  tea  cloth, 
while  her  mother  sat  conning  her  broidery  (the  rector's 
socks)  ;  half-pleased,  half-distressed,  but  never  reveal- 
ing her  maternal  solicitude  until  the  hour  when  the 
young  man,  taking  the  lily  maiden  (Etta  was  quite 
impersonal  in  these  scenes)  by  the  tips  of  the  aforesaid 
deft  fingers,  after  tender  vows  exchanged,  should  lead 


Mr.  Wilton  as  Sir  Lancelot  115 

her  up  to  demand  the  maternal  blessing.  Then  each 
would  sink  on  one  knee,  and 

"  What  about  your  bicycle  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Wilton, 
who  had  been  replacing  his  oil-can  and  spanner. 

"  It  doesn't  matter.  I  can  send  the  man  to  fetch 
it,"  said  Etta  with  a  start. 

It  was  singular  how  wholly  Higginson  was  absent 
from  the  pictured  future.  She  could  not  see  him  at 
all,  except  in  his  livery  with  a  bouquet  in  his  button- 
hole waiting  with  the  carriage  at  the  church  door, 
while  down  the  aisle  the  happy  pair 

"  Or  I  could  come  back  for  it,  if  you  like,"  said  Mr. 
Wilton. 

The  car  throbbed  and  dipped  forward  down  the 
blossomy  lane,  and  so,  on  wings  upholstered  in  olive- 
green  leather,  Etta  flew  homeward.  Conversation 
seemed  unnecessary;  and  was  limited  on  Mr.  Wilton's 
part  to  an  occasional  inquiry  as  to  whether  she  still 
felt  all  right,  and  on  her  part  to  an  assurance  that  she 
did;  whereupon  his  stalwart  hands  busied  themselves 
anew  at  increasing  or  decreasing  speed,  and  the  little 
brass  timepiece  winked  back  the  shifting  mileage. 

It  was  Etta's  first  ride  in  a  car;  but  she  felt  all  a 
keen  motorist's  indignation  at  the  recollection  of  the 
country  talk  about  cars — their  smells,  their  noises,  their 
perils.  She  could  smell  nothing  but  summer,  hear 
nothing  but  the  bees  twanging  hiveward  with  their 
honey,  fear  nothing  but  that  the  rectory  would  come 
into  view  too  soon. 

This  it  did — hours  and  days  too  soon.  There  was 
the  white  gate  between  the  two  stone  posts  surmounted 
by  the  two  stone  balls,  which  her  mother  was  always 
thinking  would  fall  off  some  fine  day  when  one  was 
driving  through  and  crush  somebody.  They  did  not 


n6  Mr.  Wilton  as  Sir  Lancelot 

fall  off  as  Etta  and  Mr.  Wilton  drove  through.  They 
remained  on,  round  and  inanimate — singularly  un- 
aware of  what  had  taken  place  during  the  past  half- 
hour.  Up  the  short  drive  the  car  sped,  and  stopped 
beautifully  just  outside  the  porch. 

Next  moment  Mr.  Wilton  stood  face  to  face  with 
the  rector's  groom-gardener,  who  had  come  from  the 
stables  on  hearing  the  arrival  of  a  visitor. 

"Dick!" 

"  What  did  you  say  ? "  asked  Etta,  who  having 
started  to  descend  on  the  off  side  of  the  car  had  only 
vaguely  caught  the  exclamation. 

Mr.  Wilton,  with  a  presence  of  mind  which  only 
Higginson's  portentous  frown  made  possible,  set  the 
car  rattling  horribly. 

"  Beg  pardon,  sir?  "  said  Higginson. 

"  Nothing,"  said  Mr.  Wilton,  adding  with  happy 
promptitude,  "  not  at  all." 

Etta  stood  looking  from  one  to  the  other.  Had 
the  motorist  really  spoken  to  Higginson  ? 

"  What  should  you  wish  done  with  this  here  auter, 
sir?"  asked  Higginson,  with  a  country  coachman's 
inept  expression  upon  being  confronted  with  one  of 
these  machines  for  the  first  time.  Etta  decided  she 
must  have  made  a  mistake. 

"  Oh,  thanks,"  said  Tod  Wilton.  "  I  don't  want— 
I  mustn't  stop." 

"  But  surely — you  must  come  in,"  said  Etta.  "  My 
mother  would  like  to  thank  you.  Higginson,  I  had  a 
slight  accident  with  my  bicycle,  and  I  want  you  to  go 
and  fetch  it.  It's  on  the  Waybury  road,  about  a 
hundred  yards  from  the  sign-post  to  Merley.  It's 
lying  in  the  hedge.  Is  my  mother  in?  " 

"  Yes,  miss." 


Mr.  Wilton  as  Sir  Lancelot  117 

"  Please  come  in  here,  Mr. ?  " 

"  Wilton." 

The  owner  of  that  name  followed  Miss  Warley 
through  the  wide  porch  into  the  rectory.  Being  be- 
hind, he  was  enabled  to  see  the  gesticulation  which 
Higginson  made,  as  soon  as  Etta  was  fairly  through 
into  the  hall.  Quite  plainly  Higginson  conveyed  the 
message : 

"  Will  meet  you  on  the  Waybury  road." 


CHAPTER  XVII 

A   LETTER   FOR   MR.    BLENKENSTEIN 

"  A  LETTER  for  Mr.  Blenkenstein  ?  " 

"  Yes,  ma'am,  my  lady." 

"  Very  well.  If  you  will  give  it  to  me,  I  will  take  it 
down  with  the  other  letters.  So  good  of  you  to  have 
come,  Mr.  Bayford.  Just  put  the  parcels  down  there, 
Halkett,  and  I  will  take  the  letters.  Every  one  is  so 
busy,  everything  is  in  such  a  muddle.  I  hope  you  will 
excuse  it.  What  do  you  say  ?  " 

Lady  Mallendon's  last  words  were  addressed  to  the 
young  man  with  the  letter  for  Mr.  Blenkenstein.  He 
and  the  postman,  and  the  Rev.  C.  W.  Bayford,  Rector 
of  Hetchingham,  had  all  arrived  at  The  Ashlands  sim- 
ultaneously, and  everything  at  The  Ashlands — includ- 
ing Lady  Mallendon — was  in  a  great  state  of  confusion 
owing  to  the  fact  that  Miss  Finch's  play  was  in  the 
first  stages  of  rehearsal.  A  stage  and  marquees  had 
been  put  up  on  the  south  lawn,  and  the  head  gardener 
had  grumbled  ever  since.  Stage-properties  and  cos- 
tumes kept  arriving,  and  getting  lost :  so  did  dramatis 
persona.  Jimmy  assisted  in  the  general  chaos  whole- 
heartedly :  Sir  Jasper,  in  a  craven  way,  had  fled  from 
the  scene  with  his  camera  immediately  after  break- 
fast. The  burden  of  everything  fell  upon  Lady  Mal- 
lendon, or  so  she  supposed ;  and  what  with  introducing 
everybody  to  everybody  else  two  or  three  times  over 

us 


A  Letter  for  Mr.  Blenkenstein        119 

and  fetching  the  letters  (under  the  impression  that  the 
servants  were  all  too  busy  for  their  ordinary  duties), 
and  carrying  things  about  and  dropping  them,  and 
having  to  have  them  wiped  up  and  brushed  down,  Lady 
Mallendon  certainly  was  passing  her  day  actively. 

"  Begging  your  pardon,  my  ladyship,"  said  the 
young  man  with  the  letter  for  Blenkenstein,  "  but  I'll 
deliver  it  personally,  if  it's  the  same  to  you.  Orders 
is  that  way." 

"  Oh,  very  well,"  said  Lady  Mallendon.  "  Follow 
me.  Mr.  Bayford,  I  know  you  will  pardon  me  for 
having  kept  you  so  long.  Shall  we  go  into  the  gar- 
den?" 

"  Charmed  —  charmed/'  said  Mr.  Bayford, 
"  charmed." 

"  So  good  of  you,"  said  Lady  Mallendon,  "  to  say 
so  and  to  allow  Mr.  Wormyer  to  act.  But  the  best  of 

these Susan,  has  the  claret-cup  been  taken  out 

yet?  It  must  be  done  at  once.  The  best  of  these,  I 
was  going  to  say,  Mr.  Bayford — only,  of  course,  there 
is  no  need  to  remind  you  of  it — is  charity." 

"  Quite  so,"  said  Mr.  Bayford.     "  True." 

"  Though  sometimes,"  said  Lady  Mallendon,  with 
a  sigh,  "  I  wonder  if  it  is  worth  it.  There  is  the  stage, 
you  see,  and  Mr.  O'Levin  stage  managing.  So  won- 
derfully clever  at  it  he  is  too;  considering  that  he  is 
really  an  editor.  What  is  he  saying?  " 

"  I  think,  my  dear  lady,"  said  Mr.  Bayford,  "  he  was 
saying  '  why  not  stand  on  both  legs  ?  ' — a  technical 
criticism,  I  take  it.  I  trust  he  will  keep  Wormyer  up 
to  the  mark." 

"  I  think  he  must  be  criticising  Mr.  Blenkenstein," 
said  Lady  Mallendon. 

That,  in  effect,  was  what  O'Levin  was  doing. 


I2O        A  Letter  for  Mr.  Blenkenstein 

"  If  ye  had  but  one  leg,  or  were  playing  the  part  of 
a  heron,"  he  was  remarking,  "  I  would  not  ask  ye  to 
alter.  Your  balance  is  good,  and  I'd  believe  ye  if  ye 
said  straight  out  ye  could  stand  on  one  leg  for  two 
hours.  Ye've  done  it,  without  flinching,  for  a  couple 
of  minutes.  But  it  is  a  point  I  wish  to  impress  on  all 
ladies  and  gentlemen  taking  part:  we  must  consider 
our  audience,  and  the  dramatic  conventions.  What 
would  Aristotle  say,  what  would  Mr.  Walkley  say,  to 
see  a  prince  stand  upon  one  leg  during  a  critical  love- 
scene?  Does  such  an  action  strike  pity  and  fear  into 
the  audience,  think  ye?  On  the  contrary,  it  encour- 
ages them  to  smile.  Ah,  that's  better,  Prince !  " 

"  I  think  that's  beautiful,"  said  Miss  Finch,  who 
was  hovering  round  in  a  nervous  manner. 

"  Kindly  refrain  from  buttering  up  your  troupe," 
said  O'Levin.  "  Tention,  Prince !  " 

Blenkenstein,  conscious  that  he  looked  foolish, 
smiled  a  sickly  smile.  He  was  not  much  of  an  actor, 
and  there  was  nothing  he  disliked  more  than  being 
made  a  public  butt  of,  even  if  the  reduction  of  him  to 
that  estate  was  done  entirely  good-naturedly.  But  it 
was  occurring  to  Blenkenstein  that  as  a  matter  of  fact 
O'Levin  was  not  doing  it  good-naturedly;  that  on  the 
contrary  he  was  taking  advantage  of  his  position  as 
stage-manager  to  treat  him  in  a  distinctly  unsympa- 
thetic and  impudent  way.  Since  O'Levin  had  come 
down,  he  had  been  markedly  ungenial;  and  Blenken- 
stein resented  the  fact.  It  made  him  uneasy.  Could 
it  mean — he  asked  himself — that  O'Levin  had  got 
wind  somehow  of  his  failure  to  allow  Faviel  to  start 
in  accordance  with  the  terms  of  the  wager?  or  was 
it  only  that  he  disliked  that  newspaper  business  ?  Blen- 
kenstein half  regretted  that  he  had  told  O'Levin  of 


A  Letter  for  Mr.  Blenkenstein         121 

it,  or  of  his  partial  engagement  to  Judith  Mallendon. 
It  wasn't  such  a  straight  and  easy  matter — the  engage- 
ment— that  he  could  afford  to  have  O'Levin  making  a 
fool  of  him  in  Judith's  eyes.  Her  moods  were  a  good 
deal  too  various  for  him  already  without  a  humorous 
one  being  started  at  his  expense. 

She  was  smiling  now  at  O'Levin's  impudence.  The 
scene  was  in  Act  I.  of  Miss  Finch's  pastoral  drama. 
Shepherd  Flaminka  (Blenkenstein),  in  reality  a  prince, 
abandoned  in  infancy  by  his  parents  upon  the  moors, 
comes  upon  the  Princess  Jurabella,  who  has  strayed 
from  her  Court  for  no  apparent  reason,  and  is  struck 
with  wonder  and  admiration  of  her  beauty.  Shepherd 
Flaminka's  admiration  had,  as  O'Levin  complained, 
taken  the  form  of  standing  on  one  leg,  a  pose  very 
well  in  a  shepherd,  but  not  suggesting  that  latent 
princeliness,  which,  as  Miss  Finch  said  in  her  preface, 
it  was,  together  with  the  beauties  of  the  simpler  life, 
the  purpose  of  the  drama  to  reveal. 

O'Levin  would  go  on  expounding  this  purpose. 

"  Ye  are  to  remimber,  Shepherd,  that  the  simpler 
life,  milking  your  goats,  fattening  your  sheep  and 
Aylesbury  ducks  and  chasing  the  bee  to  his  lair,  has 
but  intinsified  your  inherent  nobility.  The  Princess 
scorns  ye  a  bit  at  first  owing  to  your  sheep-skins, 
which,  by  the  way,  Clarkson  ought  to  have  sent  a  bit 
raggeder,  seeing  that  ye  have  but  the  one  set,  and 
home-made  at  that." 

"  All  right,"  said  Blenkenstein  sulkily. 

"  Well,  don't  forget  it,"  said  O'Levin.  "  Now,  Miss 
Mallendon,  if  ye'd  have  the  goodness  to  scorn  the  shep- 
herd for  a  moment.  I  thank  you." 

Judith  threw  a  glance  at  the  shepherd  which  made 
Blenkenstein  feel  uncomfortable. 


122        A  Letter  for  Mr.  Blenkenstein 

"  Now,  Blink,"  continued  O'Levin,  "  ye  proceed. 
'Vain  Maid'!" 

"  '  Vain  Maid  ' !  "  began  Blenkenstein. 

"  Still  on  two  legs !  " 

"  Still  on " 

"  No,  no,  that's  a  stage-direction.  Miss  Warley," 
said  O'Levin,  who  was  enjoying  himself  thoroughly, 
"  do  not  smile,  I  entreat  ye.  Recollect  that  a  high- 
class  maid,  good  hair-dresser,  clever  needle-woman, 
which  ye  would  be  supposed  to  be,  would  have  a  great 
command  of  her  features.  Mince,  if  ye  will:  but  do 
not  smile ! " 

Miss  Etta  Warley,  who  was  also  enjoying  herself, 
bit  her  lips  obediently. 

"  Now,  Blink !    Onward,  noble  shepherd !  " 

"Vain  Maid!    Not  thus  the  shepherd's  glance  disdain. 
Whence  come  thou  art,  or  from  what  sphere  removed 
I  know  not — Royal  high  it  well  may  be. 
Yet  must  thou  know  that  he  who  views  thee  now 
Hath  watched  the  eagle,  king  of  birds,  whose  flight 
Thine  cannot  equal,  hath  won  from  the  bee 
Honey  that  lurks  not  in  thy  lips." 

Blenkenstein  delivered  Miss  Finch's  high-toned 
lines  with  a  self -consciousness  that  would  have  ruined 
Shakespeare,  and  the  Princess  replied  flippantly. 

"Good!"  said  O'Levin,  of  the  latter.  "Now, 
chorus — 

'  Come  sheep,  come  shepherds,  come  every  one 
And  dance  on  the  greensward  under  the  sun. 

And  dance  lively,  only  try  not  to  injure  the  green- 
sward, about  which,  I  understand,  Lady  Mallendon's 
gardener  is  very  particular — where  is  the  chorus  ?  " 


A  Letter  for  Mr.  Blenkenstein         123 

The  chorus,  which  had  not  been  able  to  turn  up 
in  full  strength  that  afternoon,  consisted,  it  was 
found,  of  the  Hetchingham  curate  only,  Mr.  Worm- 
yer,  who  would  fain  have  backed  out  of  the  shep- 
herds' dance  when  he  found  that  he  had  to  do  it 
alone. 

"  Courage,  Wormyer,  courage !  "  said  Mr.  Bayford, 
who  had  a  paternal  way  with  his  curates;  and  Mr. 
Wormyer  was  induced  to  give  an  example  of  his 
terpsichorean  powers. 

"  Admirable — if  ye  could  make  it  less  of  a  cake- 
walk,"  O'Levin  said  at  the  end  of  this  embarrassed 
performance. 

"  A — what !  "  asked  Mr.  Wormyer,  horror-struck. 

"  A  cake-walk.    It's  foreign  to  the  period." 

"  I  am  not  aware,"  said  Mr.  Wormyer,  with  dig- 
nity, "  that  I  have  ever  seen  a  cake-walk — far  less 
practised  it.  Therefore,  I  must  confess " 

"  It  comes  natural  to  ye.  Thrue !  It  does  to  some 
people,"  said  O'Levin.  "  Mind  ye,  I'm  not  complain- 
ing. Ye  did  it  nately  indeed.  And  now,  ladies  and 
gentlemen " — he  proceeded,  to  cover  an  explosion 
from  Etta,  and  also  because  Lady  Mallendon  had 
gesticulated  tea — "  I  think  that'll  do  for  to-day. 
We're  getting  on,  I  think." 

"  Capitally,  capitally !  "  said  Mr.  Bayford,  as  the 
proceedings  came  to  an  end  for  the  time  being.  "  It 
has  quite  smartened  Wormyer  up.  Eh?  Ha!  I 
should  not  be  surprised,  Wormyer,  if  you  found  this 
do  you  quite  a  lot  of  good.  It  might  even,  since  any 
concentrated  effort  strengthens  us  all  round,  give  you 
an  ease  in  composition,  Wormyer.  I  remember,  Lady 
Mallendon,"  continued  Mr.  Bayford,  who  had  a  habit 
of  connecting  as  many  people  as  he  could  with  his  con- 


124        A  Letter  for  Mr.  Blenkenstein 

versation,  "  it  is  a  singular  circumstance,  but  I  can 
vouch  for  it  personally,  that  when  I  went  in  for  bowls 
— and  pretty  assiduously  I  did  so  at  one  time — I  felt 
an  ease  in  writing  my  sermons  that  astonished  me. 
I  recall  the  Bishop  coming  over  about  that  time  and 
saying  to  me,  '  The  diocese  is  not  without  its  preacher, 
Bayford;  the  diocese  is  not  without  its  preacher.' 
Ah — well — tea,  my  dear  Lady  Mallendon  ?  I  am  sure 
that  some  of  us  have  deserved  it — have  deserved 
it" 

He  joined  himself  on  to  O'Levin  on  the  way  to  the 
tea-tables  which  were  set  out  in  the  garden,  and  Lady 
Mallendon  called  Blenkenstein's  attention  to  the  young 
man  who  had  a  letter  for  him.  The  young  man,  who 
had  well-greased  hair,  a  high  collar,  and  that  unspeak- 
ably impudent  look  which  is  only  achieved  to  perfec- 
tion by  a  born  Londoner,  had  been  watching  the  play 
critically. 

"  A  good  hactress  and  a  pretty  girl,  that  Miss  Mal- 
lendon," he  said  confidentially  to  Blenkenstein,  as 
Lady  Mallendon  receded.  "  Don't  put  yourself  out, 
sir,"  he  added,  as  Blenkenstein,  suspecting  who  he  was 
from,  began  to  lead  him  into  the  house,  "  it's  a  letter 
from  Mr.  Boke.  No  immediate  hurry.  But  he'd  like 
an  answer.  Word  of  mouth  would  do." 

He  handed  Blenkenstein  the  letter,  and  the  latter 
still  walking  towards  the  house  read  it.  It  was  brief 
and  pointed. 

"  Have  seen  Mr.  F. — in  same  place — meet  a  friend, 
name  unknown.  Friend  told  Mr.  F.  of  your  engage- 
ment in  my  hearing.  I  understood  that  Mr.  F.  in- 
tends to  arrange  a  meeting  Sunday  next  with  Miss 
M.  of  The  Ashlands.  He  has  written  to  her  to  that 


A  Letter  for  Mr.  Blenkenstein         125 

effect.     Place  of  meeting  unknown.     Should  be  glad 
to  have  your  instructions." 

Blenkenstein  frowned. 

"  You  know  what's  in  this,  I  suppose?  "  he  said  to 
the  young  man. 

"  I  do,"  said  Mr.  Coppenwell  blandly.  "  I  may  say 
I  advised  Mr.  Boke  to  send  it." 

"  I  don't  know  that  you  need  have  come  with  it," 
said  Blenkenstein.  "  I  don't  want  any  one  to  know  the 
connection  between  us,  in  case  they  see  any  of  you 
hanging  about.  Well,  that  can't  be  helped  anyway. 
Tell  Mr.  Boke  from  me  that  it  must  be  stopped.  No 
meeting  is  to  take  place.  I  suppose  that's  easily  man- 
aged." 

"  It  won't  be  nothing  to  Mr.  Boke  and  me,  working 
together,"  said  Mr.  Coppenwell. 

"The  mill's  ready?" 

"  The  mill,"  said  Mr.  Coppenwell,  "  is  taut  an'  trim. 
Pervisions  is  laid  in — junk  an'  sech.  Mr.  Boke,  as  a 
retired  and  'centric  sea-capting,  is  known  slightly  to 
one  or  two  farmers  and  a  general  store.  Otherways, 
we  keep  pretty  quiet,  lettin'  it  be  known  that  our  tastes 
are  in  that  direction.  Mr.  Boke,  as  Captain  Bunbury, 
is  puttin'  up  a  flag-post,  the  unfailin'  sign  of  a  naval 
career,  in  spare  minits.  We  'ave,  however,  not  many, 
there  bein'  a  deal  o'  watchin'  for  three  'ands.  There's 
a  feller  named  Bilks  with  us." 

"  Well,"  said  Blenkenstein,  who  took  no  great  in- 
terest in  these  details,  and  disliked  the  young  man's 
presence,  "  that's  all  I  want  to  know.  And  you  needn't 
show  yourself  about  here,  mind,  unless  there's  an  abso- 
lute necessity." 

He  hoped  that  no  one  had  noticed  Mr.  Boke's  agent 


126        A  Letter  for  Mr.  Blenkenstein 

already.  There  was  something  about  Mr.  Coppenwell 
that  made  even  the  most  passing  acquaintance  with 
him  of  dubious  advantage  to  a  man  who  wished  to  be 
above  suspicion.  Blenkenstein  was  glad  to  see  him 
marching  down  the  drive  in  front  of  the  house  with 
nobody  else  in  view. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

DOUBTS   IN   A   ROSE-BOWER 

THE  post  that  Lady  Mallendon  was  distributing 
while  Blenkenstein  interviewed  "  that  curious-looking 
young  man  "  (as  Lady  Mallendon  called  Mr.  Coppen- 
well,  thus  succeeding  in  drawing  several  people's  at- 
tention to  him  at  a  blow,  so  to  speak),  contained  for 
Judith  the  very  letter  to  which  Mr.  Boke  in  his  com- 
munication had  referred. 

Not  recognizing  the  handwriting,  Judith  had  slipped 
it  into  her  pocket  for  the  time  being,  and  it  was  only 
after  the  temporary  guests  had  driven  or  walked  off, 
and  when  she  had  retired  to  her  favorite  seat  in  the 
garden — an  arbored  seat  overrun  with  the  evergreen, 
and  now  snow-laden  boughs  of  the  "  Felicity  "  rose — 
that  she  remembered  it  and  took  it  out. 

She  was  a  red  rose  among  the  white  when  she  had 
read  it — a  shorter  script  even  than  Mr.  Boke's,  and 
simply  addressed  to  Miss  Judith  Mallendon.  It  ran : — 

"  I  must  see  you  on  Sunday  next,  some  time  in  the 
afternoon.  I  do  not  know  where  as  yet,  but  will  send 
you  a  line  to  tell  you.  Please  do  not  let  any  one  know 
that  I  shall  be  in  the  neighborhood  of  The  Ashlands 
on  that  day. 

"  R.  F." 

That  was  all,  but  Judith  read  it  a  score  of  times,  and 
it  raised  in  her  a  hundred  moods.  A  few  days  ago,  if 

127 


128  Doubts  in  a  Rose-Bower 

she  had  got  it,  on  her  return  from  that  hateful  visit 
to  Mr.  Wilton,  she  would  have  torn  it  into  bits — a 
thousand  bits — and  put  her  heel  on  them,  and  smiled 
superbly  as  she  did  it.  But  to  youth,  so  keen  to  deter- 
mine and  so  quick  to  change  a  determination,  a  few 
days  ago  may  be  as  much  as  a  few  months  ago,  or 
as  a  few  years  ago,  in  the  counter-influences  they  can 
bring  to  bear  upon  the  mind.  Judith  had  come  back 
from  that  visit  intransigeant,  merciless,  as  far  as  Mr. 
Faviel  was  concerned.  Never  again,  she  had  said  to 
herself,  should  a  maidenly  weakness  put  her  in  so 
miserable  a  position,  never  again.  Recognizing,  even 
while  she  made  that  internal  vow,  that  maidens  are 
apt  to  be  weak  (for  Judith  was  in  no  way  self-con- 
ceited), she  had  welcomed,  or  at  any  rate  she  had  said 
to  herself  that  she  had  welcomed,  Mr.  Blenkenstein's 
proposal. 

He  had  proposed  that  night,  on  a  hint  from  Lady 
Mallendon.  Why  Judith  had  not  accepted  him  out- 
right, she  could  not  have  told  herself.  No  thought  of 
Mr.  Faviel  deterred  her.  Such  a  thought  would  have 
spurred  her  on.  Mr.  Blenkenstein  had  been  very  nice, 
too,  in  his  way  of  proposing;  at  least,  she  supposed  it 
was  very  nice,  she  was  sure  it  was.  Only  something, 
the  about-to-be-caged  feeling  that  is  the  test  of  doubt- 
ful love,  had  deterred  her.  She  had  said  that  she  ad- 
mired him  greatly,  that  she  liked  him,  that  she  was 
uplifted  by  his  offer,  but  she  thought  it  her  duty  to 
make  sure  that  she  liked  him  as  much  as  a  girl  should 
like  her  future  husband.  It  had  sounded  rather  com- 
monplace to  her,  but  then  one  has  to  fit  commonplace 
words  to  commonplace  acts.  It  is  a  commonplace  act 
to  go  halfway  with  a  man.  Mr.  Blenkenstein  had  not 
seemed  to  mind  very  much.  Perhaps  what  he  did 


Doubts  in  a  Rose-Bower  129 

hear  was  rather  more  favorable  than  what  he  had 
expected  to  hear,  though  Judith  could  not  have  guessed 
it.  The  truth  is,  her  words  sounded  far  more  favora- 
ble than  anything  he  had  expected.  He  had  never 
been  intimate  with  English  girls  of  her  class,  or  indeed 
of  any  class;  and  though  he  had  attained  a  certain 
bluff  ease  of  manner  in  society,  he  had  the  outsider's 
conviction  that  it  was  something  far  more  ceremonial 
and  stiff  than  it  ever  is.  He  had  not  in  the  least  ex- 
pected Judith  to  jump  at  him.  He  would  not  have 
wanted  her  to  jump  at  him.  Though  he  would  have 
been  quite  ready  to  explain  to  business  friends  that 
Lady  Mallendon's  niece  had  been  delighted  to  get  hold 
of  him,  and  the  old  lady  not  less  so,  he  was  not  at  all 
desirous  of  being  jumped  at.  He  wanted  fastidious- 
ness and  exclusiveness  in  his  wife,  and  was  prepared 
to  pay  for  it  and — for  a  time,  at  any  rate — to  put  up 
with  it,  even  if  it  was  applied  to  himself,  though  later 
on  he  would  see  that  it  was  applied  only  to  other  peo- 
ple. For  a  preliminary  then,  Judith's  attitude  seemed 
to  be  all  that  he  could  have  hoped  for,  even  supposing 
she  had  never  had  a  thought  for  Faviel.  Here  she 
was  saying  that  she  liked  him — she  would  like 
to  see  more  of  him,  she  was  glad  that  he  would 
accept  Lady  Mallendon's  invitation  to  The  Ash- 
lands,  as  that  would  enable  her  to  see  more  of  him. 
In  a  fortnight  she  would  say  definitely  if  she  felt  that 
she  could  marry  him.  She  had  asked  for  a  month, 
and  Blenkenstein,  with  a  warmth  that  came  in  reality 
from  his  consciousness  of  the  period  over  which  the 
wager  lasted,  but  seemed  genuine  fervor  to  her,  man- 
aged to  bring  it  down  to  a  fortnight.  She  would  not 
consent  to  less. 

Now  there  was  a  letter  in  her  hand  which  threatened 


130  Doubts  in  a  Rose-Bower 

to  make  havoc  of  all  her  prudence,  of  all  her  happy, 
her  measuredly  happy  expectations.  Mr.  Faviel  must 
see  her!  Must!  The  imperative  charmed  and  armed 
her  alternately.  She  felt  he  had  no  right  to  speak  with 
authority,  and  that  he  had  the  right  of  having  spoken 
with  it.  She  wondered  if  men  of  the  kind  she  had 
concluded  him  to  be  would  dare  to  write  like  that ;  and 
since  he  had  written  like  that,  she  wondered  if  he 
could  be  that  kind  of  man. 

Had  she  done  him  injustice,  come  to  her  conclusions 
unfairly?  When  she  looked  forward,  a  thousand  pos- 
sibilities of  her  being  wrong  revealed  themselves; 
when  she  looked  back,  the  possibilities  faded.  Oh,  if 
she  had  never  been  to  see  Mr.  Wilton ! 

But  should  she  go  to  meet  Mr.  Faviel?  The  ques- 
tion had  to  be  decided,  not  now,  at  once,  but  before 
Sunday,  and  to-day  was  Thursday.  She  wished  that 
she  could  consult  some  one.  She  wanted  to  know  if 
in  any  case  she  was  not  bound,  in  honor  to  Mr.  Blen- 
kenstein,  to  refrain  from  going.  Supposing  that  Mr. 
Faviel  was  a  perfectly  honorable  man,  had  she  not,  by 
her  unjust  haste,  condemned  herself  to  see  him  no 
more  ?  She  almost  thought  she  had,  and  then  it  struck 
her  that  in  that  event  she  had  also  condemned  Mr. 
Faviel  not  to  see  her.  Was  the  honorable  also  the 
fair  and  just  thing?  It  hardly  seemed  fair  to  Mr. 
Faviel. 

It  was  no  good  to  ask  Lady  Mallendon,  even 
vaguely,  for  Judith  would  have  felt  bound  by  the  terms 
of  the  letter  not  to  reveal  the  exact  circumstances.  Sir 
Jasper  would  only  hem  and  haw.  What  about  Jimmy  ? 
Jimmy  liked  Mr.  Faviel,  and  he  did  not  like  Mr. 
Blenkenstein.  But  then  he  had  a  very  equitable  mind. 
Jimmy  was  distinctly  a  sportsman. 


Doubts  in  a  Rose-Bower  131 

The  idea  of  consulting  Jimmy  took  such  command- 
ing shape  in  Judith's  mind  that  in  the  end  she  rose 
to  go  in  search  of  him.  As  she  went,  she  saw  Blen- 
kenstein  across  the  rose  garden,  coming,  she  could  not 
doubt,  to  look  for  her.  For  a  moment  Judith  hesi- 
tated. Then  she  slipped  behind  a  hedge  of  "  Crimson 
Rambler  "  and  went  towards  the  house. 

She  came  upon  Jimmy  in  the  hall,  and  Jimmy,  it 
seemed,  had  news  for  her. 

"  Who  do  you  think  has  come  over  ?  "  he  asked 

"  I  don't  know." 

"  Guess,"  said  Jimmy. 

"  How  can  I  ?  "  she  asked  languidly.  Dozens  of 
people  might  have  come  over,  in  none  of  whom  she 
could  take  at  present  the  smallest  interest. 

"  Some  one,"  Jimmy  persisted,  "  related  to  some- 
body about  whom  you  used  to  be  rather  keen  before 
B.  B.  turned  up  "  (B.  B.  stood  for  "  Bounding  Blen- 
kenstein,"  a  phrase  Judith  had  strictly  interdicted 
and  Jimmy  had  accordingly  curtailed).  "  Smoked!  " 
Jimmy  added  triumphantly,  as  the  scarlet  came  to  her 
cheeks.  She  forgot  to  reprimand  him  for  his  use  of 
the  offensive  abbreviation. 

"  Tell  me,  Jimmy,  who  is  it?  " 

"  An  aunt  of  Mr.  Faviel's.  Jolly  old  lady. 
Duchessy,  with  a  topping  little  dog  like  a  toad.  It 
went  for  James'  legs  like  a  shot  when  he  opened  the 
door.  She's  driven  over  from  Waybury  to  cross- 
examine  Sir  J.  about  Mr.  Faviel.  I  expect  she  fancies 
we've  got  him  hidden  up  our  sleeves  somewhere.  Ma- 
ter's in  the  drawing-room  with  them,  telling  her  she 
loved  Mr.  Faviel  like  a  son,  I  expect.  Bottles  of  tears, 
and  Sir  J.  running  round  with  a  hanky.  Hullo !  she's 
coming  out;  there's  the  little  dog." 


132  Doubts  in  a  Rose-Bower 

Judith  had  no  time  to  beat  a  retreat.  As  Jimmy 
said,  there  was  the  little  dog,  standing  on  tight  legs 
regarding  them  suspiciously,  and  Sir  Jasper  was  hold- 
ing the  door  to  his  wife  and  Miss  Faviel. 

"  I  am  so  distressed,"  Lady  Mallendon  was  saying, 
"  that  we  cannot  throw  any  light  on  it.  Mr.  Faviel 
was  such  a  friend  of  ours — so  delightful — the  very 
last  young  man,  one  would  have  thought,  to  have  van- 
ished so  mysteriously." 

"  Well,  I  don't  know,"  said  Miss  Faviel,  "  it's  rather 
a  habit  of  my  family  to  do  queer  things,  which 
wouldn't  occur  to  other  people,  and  that  is  why  I  can't 
help  thinking  Richard  will  turn  up.  It's  very  good  of 
you  to  have  taken  so  much  trouble,  much  more  than 
Richard  deserves,  and  I  hope  I  haven't  wasted  your 
time  unpardonably.  Monarch!  what  are  you  doing? 
Your  son  and  daughter,  Lady  Mallendon  ?  " 

Lady  Mallendon  frowned  slightly  through  the  tears, 
which,  as  Jimmy  had  prophesied,  had  been  the  result 
of  the  interview.  She  wished  Judith  had  not  hap- 
pened to  be  there.  It  was  no  good  raking  up  past 
memories. 

"  My  son,  and  my  niece  Judith." 

Miss  Faviel  stopped  opposite  the  latter.  She  was  a 
little  taller  than  Judith. 

"  My  dear,"  she  said,  with  a  familiarity  that  was 
yet,  somehow,  gracious  and  dignified,  "  you  are  a  very 
beautiful  girl.  Did  my  nephew,  Richard  Faviel,  know 
you?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Judith.  The  pink  was  coming  again 
into  her  cheeks. 

Miss  Faviel  nodded. 

"  It  is  quite  impossible,"  she  said,  speaking,  it 
seemed,  more  to  herself  than  to  any  one  else,  "  that 


Doubts  in  a  Rose-Bower  133 

Richard  should  have  run  away  with  a  German  actress. 
I  see  Monarch  is  making  friends  with  you,  Mr.  Mal- 
lendon." 

Jimmy  repeated  afterwards  that  Monarch  was  a 
topping  little  dog,  and  Miss  Faviel  a  jolly  old  lady. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

MR.    WARLEY   SETS   OUT   TO   BUY   A   WARDROBE 

IT  was  on  Thursday  that  Judith  received  Faviel's 
letter,  and  that  Miss  Faviel  called  at  The  Ashlands. 
It  was  for  Sunday  that  Faviel  had  appointed  the 
meeting. 

On  Friday,  between  these  two  dates,  Faviel  might 
have  been  seen,  and,  as  will  be  shown  afterwards,  was 
seen,  driving  Mr.  Warley  into  Waybury  in  the  dogcart. 

If  he  could  have  got  out  of  that  drive,  Faviel  would 
have  done  so.  All  the  way  there  he  wished  he  had 
taken  advantage  of  his  opportunities  the  night  before 
to  disappear  anew.  He  had  spent  the  night  before — 
Thursday  night,  that  is  to  say — in  exploring  the  neigh- 
borhood of  The  Ashlands,  for  the  purpose  of  finding 
a  spot  that  would  do  for  his  tryst  with  Judith,  and 
he  had  fixed  on  a  certain  glade  in  the  woods  surround- 
ing the  house  as  being  accessible  enough  for  Judith, 
and  sufficiently  sequestered  for  his  own  safety.  Re- 
turning to  his  room  over  the  stables  before  sunrise, 
after  having  done  something  like  a  twenty-mile  tramp, 
he  wrote  off  his  note  and  retired  to  sleep. 

It  was  when  he  woke  and  found  that  the  rector  was 
bound  for  Waybury — in  order  to  purchase  a  wardrobe 
for  some  invalid  cousin  who  had  recently  decided  to 
take  a  cottage  in  the  neighborhood — that  Faviel  wished 
he  had  stopped  away.  Tod  Wilton  had  informed  him 
of  his  aunt's  advent  at  that  little  country  town;  and 

134 


Mr.  Warley  Sets  out  to  Buy  a  Wardrobe  135 

though  Tod  had  expressed  the  belief  that  she  was  only 
stopping  there  for  a  night  or  two  at  the  outside — 
which  would  mean  that  she  had  left  yesterday — Faviel 
knew  enough  of  his  relation  to  be  aware  that  she 
might  very  well  still  be  there.  If  the  air  suited  Mon- 
arch, or  if  Monarch  had  not  slept  well  enough  to  bear 
the  return  journey,  Monarch  would  abide,  and  Miss 
Faviel  would  abide  with  him. 

Certainly  he  was  a  fool  to  have  returned  to  the 
rector's  service  after  his  night  out. 

Had  Faviel  known  that  Mr.  Boke  had  espied  him 
returning  in  the  early  morning,  that  moreover  Mr. 
Boke,  alarmed  by  this  unaccountable  night  expedition, 
and  already  on  the  lookout  to  put  Blenkenstein's  orders 
into  execution,  had  decided  that  he  must  not  again 
risk  letting  his  quarry  out  of  his  sight  until  his  capture 
had  been  effected — and  that  the  capture  must  be  ef- 
fected at  the  earliest  opportunity — had  Faviel  known 
these  things,  he  would  have  been  still  more  uneasy  at 
entering  Waybury  that  morning. 

It  was  a  smoking  hot  day — one  of  those  days  when 
distances  are  wrapped  in  mist,  and  nearer  things  be- 
come animate  in  a  dancing  blue  light.  All  along  the 
road  the  hedges  had  been  white  with  dust,  and  where 
the  sun  striking  down  through  tree-boughs,  checkered 
the  ground,  the  white  squares  had  been  singularly 
large,  and  the  black  bars  thin  and  small.  The  little 
old-fashioned  town  itself,  never  at  any  time  bustling, 
was  drowsy  to  the  last  degree,  and  scarcely  a  soul  was 
visible,  as  Dick  drove  Sir  Gawain,  wet-shouldered  and 
irritable,  down  the  High  Street  to  the  shop  where  Mr. 
Warley  wished  to  make  his  purchase. 

"  I  dare  say  I  shall  be  some  few  minutes,"  said  Mr. 
Warley,  getting  down. 


136  Mr.  Warley  Sets  out  to  Buy  a  Wardrobe 

"  Yessir,"  returned  Faviel,  restraining  his  desire  to 
implore  Mr.  Warley  to  hurry,  with  the  greatest  dif- 
ficulty. 

As  often  happens,  the  anxiety  which  he  had  been 
able  to  subdue  while  in  motion  came  bubbling  up  the 
instant  immobility  was  forced  upon  him.  It  exag- 
gerated sources  of  peril,  almost  invented  them.  The 
town,  which  had  seemed  so  quiet  as  he  drove  through, 
began  to  waken  as  if  by  magic.  There  had  been  no 
one  about,  and  now — an  assistant  in  bare  sleeves  had 
come  out  of  the  fruiterer's  shop  opposite  and  was 
staring  at  him.  A  fruiterer's  assistant  did  not  matter, 
nor  the  two  small  boys  who  had  begun  squabbling 
about  their  marbles  a  little  way  off.  But  here  were 
two  women  coming  towards  him — not  his  aunt,  thank 
heaven — a  nurse-girl  and  a  child,  then  a  man,  who 
looked  like  some  retired  shopkeeper  and  had  nothing  to 
do — confound  him — but  look  about  him. 

Perched  on  his  box-seat — a  sight  for  everybody  who 
chose  to  look  at  him — Mr.  Faviel  grew  as  restless  as 
Sir  Gawain,  who  kept  pawing  and  snorting  as  the 
patch  of  shade  in  which  he  stood  diminished.  Would 
Mr.  Warley  never  come  out?  The  High  Street  was 
becoming  quite  crowded  in  the  eyes  of  one  who  would 
have  had  it  as  empty  as  a  moor. 

Suddenly  Faviel  froze.  A  small  stout  dog  had  run 
up  from  behind  and  began  yapping  at  Sir  Gawain. 

"  Monarch !  "  said  a  voice,  "  Mon " 

The  sudden  cessation  of  Miss  Faviel's  voice  was 
unmistakable.  She  had  recognized  her  nephew. 

Faviel,  his  face  set  straight  ahead  with  an  air  of 
lunatic  intensity,  was  conscious  that  she  had  stopped 
on  the  pavement  beside  him,  was  looking  at  him. 

"  Richard !  "  said  Miss  Faviel  suddenly. 


Mr.  Warley  Sets  out  to  Buy  a  Wardrobe  137 

There  was  no  response.  The  groom  on  the  box-seat 
still  looked  straight  ahead  of  him. 

"  Richard !  "  repeated  Miss  Faviel. 

"  Eh — what?  Speakin'  to  me,  mum?  "  Faviel  con- 
fronted her  in  a  sudden  desperation,  and  spoke  in  the 
chokiest  dialect. 

"  Aren't  you Never  mind,"  said  Miss  Faviel. 

Scarcely  believing  his  eyes,  Faviel  saw  his  aunt 
hurrying  past  him  along  the  street.  Could  he  have 
deceived  her  by  his  accent  ?  It  hardly  seemed  possible, 
and  yet  there  she  was  marching  ahead  so  fast  that 
Monarch's  tongue  went  out  to  help  him  to  keep  pace. 

As  a  matter  of  fact  Miss  Faviel,  in  no  whit  shaken 
in  her  conviction  as  to  this  being  her  nephew,  was 
proceeding  to  put  into  execution  a  plan  which  for  the 
rapidity  of  its  conception  would  have  done  credit  to 
Faviel  himself.  He  must  be  off  his  head — she  con- 
cluded— at  any  rate  to  the  extent  of  having  lost  his 
memory,  as  Lady  Mallendon,  who  had  stuck  to  that 
theory  of  Jimmy's,  had  suggested  to  her  yesterday. 
Consequently,  he  was  not  responsible  for  his  actions. 
She  could  not  very  well  haul  him  out  of  the  dogcart 
alone  and  unaided;  but  Mr.  Bigstock's  honeysuckled 
cottage  was  only  a  couple  of  minutes'  walk  away.  She 
was  knocking  on  the  door  of  it  before  a  glimmering  of 
her  possible  intentions  came  to  Faviel.  Having  been 
in  Waybury  several  times  already,  he  knew  that  the 
local  constabulary  inhabited  that  dwelling,  when  not  on 
duty. 

The  next  moment — and  before  Miss  Faviel's  knock- 
ing had  been  answered — he  was  in  Mr.  Green's  second- 
hand furniture  shop.  His  first  impulse  had  been  to 
drive  off  in  the  opposite  direction  at  full  speed,  but 
that  would  lead  to  a  hue  and  cry.  If  he  could  get  the 


138  Mr.  Warley  Sets  out  to  Buy  a  Wardrobe 

rector  to  come  with  him,  on  any  excuse,  it  would  be 
better.  .  .  . 

"  If  you  please,  sir,"  he  began,  "  the  horse  is  chafing 
to  that  extent  that " 

Luck,  or  a  semblance  of  it,  was  with  him  once  again. 
He  was  still  in  the  middle  of  his  sentence,  when  a 
clatter  of  hoofs,  followed  by  cries  and  shouts,  indi- 
cated that  Sir  Gawain  had  chafed  more  than  he  knew. 
Through  the  glass-panel  door,  with  a  sideways  glance, 
Faviel  saw  that  Sir  Gawain  was  indeed  in  full  career 
down  the  High  Street. 

"  That  he's  bolted,  sir." 

"  Good  heavens !  "  said  the  Rev.  Warley,  and,  barely 
stopping  to  adjust  his  eyeglasses,  dashed  from  the 
shop,  followed  by  the  old  proprietor,  Mr.  Green.  It 
was  not  every  day  that  something  happened  in 
Waybury. 

Faviel  had  the  shop  to  himself.  But  the  horse  that 
was  to  have  borne  him  off  from  discovery  was  gone, 
irrevocably  so  far  as  he  was  concerned,  for  there  was 
no  question  that  when  it  returned,  if  ever,  he  must  be 
gone  or  found  out.  What  was  to  be  done  ?  He  went 
to  the  door  warily  and  peeped  out.  Half  Waybury 
was  in  pursuit  of  the  runaway;  the  other  half  was 
talking  loudly  at  doors  and  windows  and  in  the  middle 
of  the  road,  prophesying  disasters,  or  accounting  for 
them.  In  any  case,  there  was  no  hope  of  his  being 
able  to  escape  by  the  High  Street,  even  were  it  not 
that  down  that  same  High  Street,  coming  towards  him, 
and  not  a  hundred  yards  away,  were  his  aunt  and  a 
burly  police-constable. 

On  the  most  favorable  calculation,  then,  he  had 
about  three  minutes  in  which  to  effect  his  deliverance. 
He  hurriedly  cast  about  him. 


Mr.  Warley  Sets  out  to  Buy  a  Wardrobe  139 

The  shop  was  the  front  room,  low  and  large,  of  an 
old  house.  There  was  nothing  so  modern  in  it  even 
as  a  counter;  and  the  idea  of  arranging  it  to  attract 
customers  had  never,  apparently,  so  much  as  entered 
its  proprietor's  head.  His  plan  was  the  simple  one  of 
placing  goods  as  they  arrived  in  whatever  space  was 
vacant,  and  leaving  them  there  until  some  enterprising 
purchaser  demanded  their  removal.  Very  little  space 
was  vacant  now. 

A  pair  of  grandfather  clocks  stood  pointing  to 
diverse  hours,  the  most  obvious  perpendiculars  in  a 
heap  composed  of  battered  baths,  towel-horses,  spring 
bedsteads  and  straw  mattresses.  On  a  Chippendale 
card-table  were  piled  articles  so  different  as  a  pair  of 
waders,  a  Chinese  heron  in  bronze  and  a  cracked 
earthenware  washing  basin;  while  a  second-hand  hen- 
coop was  filled  with  quaint  china  and  odd  books  alter- 
nately. The  bulkier  things  were  in  the  background; 
bow-chests  shouldering  kitchen  tables,  laden  with  ket- 
tles and  warming-pans;  a  hutch  or  two  with  broken 
carvings,  and  wardrobes  of  various  sizes  and  ages, 
including  that  wardrobe  which  Mr.  Warley  had  been 
in  the  act  of  purchasing. 

This  caught  Faviel's  eye  as  being  the  largest  in  the 
shop :  capable  of  concealing,  in  the  last  resort,  two  or 
three  persons  in  either  of  its  capacious  wings.  For  a 
moment  he  thought  of  trying  it  himself,  but  such  con- 
cealment, being  too  much  in  the  way  of  a  negative 
escape  at  the  best  rather  than  a  positive  (for  he  could 
not  guess  what  was  in  the  end  to  happen),  he  sup- 
pressed the  inclination  to  risk  it,  and  stepped  hastily 
towards  the  door  leading  from  the  shop  into  the  in- 
terior of  the  house. 

His  knowledge  of  such  houses  as  this  was  nil,  but  it 


140  Mr.  Warley  Sets  out  to  Buy  a  Wardrobe 

seemed  to  him  not  unlikely  that  there  was  a  way  out 
at  the  back,  giving  perhaps  on  to  some  other  street. 

Whether  this  was  so  or  not,  he  was  never  destined 
to  find  out,  for  no  sooner  had  he  stepped  into  the 
passage  behind  the  door  when  an  old  woman,  of  a 
frowsy  and  ill-tempered  appearance,  who  was  in  fact 
no  other  than  Mrs.  Green,  wife  of  the  proprietor,  rose 
up  out  of  the  dim  light  and  barred  his  way. 

"  This  ain't  the  shop,  young  man,"  she  said  severely. 

"  Oh,  isn't  it  ?  "  said  Faviel,  taken  aback. 

"  No,  it  ain't — and  if  it's  Mr.  Green  you're  after, 
and  he  ain't  in  the  shop  now,  he's  as  likely  as  not 
round  to  the  '  Sow  and  Pigs,'  which  'e  often  is.  So 
what  I  says  is,  you'd  best  go  an'  find  'im,  for  I  don't 
know  nothing  about  the  things  myself,  nor  if  I  did 
would  Mr.  Green,  which  is  my  husband,  keer  for  me 
to  meddle  with  them." 

Faviel,  backing  away  before  this  mingling  of 
information,  had  the  door  banged  in  his  face.  He  was 
once  more  in  the  shop  alone,  with  a  minute  only  now 
for  concealment.  With  a  painful  consciousness  that 
he  had  no  other  choice,  he  crept  past  the  barrier  of 
littered  furniture,  and  entered  one  of  the  wings  of  the 
big  wardrobe.  There  was  no  key  on  the  outside,  but 
it  closed  with  a  catch. 

The  man  whom  Faviel  had  conceived  to  be  some 
retired  shopkeeper  with  nothing  to  do,  to  whom,  ap- 
parently, the  incident  of  the  runaway  horse  had  been 
so  unimportant  that  he  had  up  to  this  moment  kept 
his  face  pressed  against  Mr.  Green's  not  over  clean 
shop  window  without  once  removing  it,  glanced  up  as 
Miss  Faviel,  accompanied  by  Mr.  Bigstock,  entered  the 
shop,  as  if  doubtful  whether  to  follow  them  in  or  not. 
He  decided  in  the  end  to  remain  where  he  was,  within 


Mr.  Warley  Sets  out  to  Buy  a  Wardrobe  141 

hearing,  but  not  close  enough  to  be  connected  with 
anything  that  might  have  gone,  or  now  be  going,  on 
in  the  shop. 

"  I  don't  go  to  see  any  gentleman  here,"  he  could 
hear  the  big  constable  remark,  in  a  discouraging  way, 
to  his  lady  companion. 

"  I  am  almost  sure  he  came  in,"  said  Miss  Faviel. 

"  There  aren't  no  tracks,"  said  Mr.  Bigstock,  as 
though  a  spoor  would  certainly  have  met  the  eye,  if 
Miss  Faviel  were  right  in  her  conjecture.  "  I  expect 
he  come  out  again,  surely." 

"  Don't  you  think,"  said  Miss  Faviel,  "  that  he  might 
have  tried  to  get  out  that  way  ?  "  She  pointed  to  the 
door  through  which  her  nephew  had  as  a  matter  of 
fact  penetrated,  only  to  be  driven  back. 

"  Well,"  said  Mr.  Bigstock,  "  I  hardly  know  as 
he'd  have  done  that.  It's  privit,  ye  see,  that  door  is. 
Goes  into  old  Mrs.  Green's  parley,  that  door  does,  and 
it  ain't  intended  like  for  customers.  But  I  tell  'ee  what, 
miss,  we  can  make  sure  of  that,  ma'am,  by  asking  old 
Mrs.  Green  if  she's  seen  him.  Mrs.  Green,  hi !  " 

Mr.  Bigstock's  stentorian  call,  politely  directed 
through  the  half-opened  door,  had  the  desired  effect  of 
bringing  Mrs.  Green  forth. 

"  If  you  was  wanting  Mr.  Green,  and  he  ain't  in 
the  shop,  he's  as  likely  as  not  round  to  the — lor,  it's 
Mr.  Bigstock." 

"  We  was  wanting  to  know,  this  lady  and  me,  Mrs. 
Green — it's  a  matter,  I  may  say,  of  lor  and  order,  no 
suspicions  of  course  attaching  to  you,  Mrs.  Green — if 
you've  seen  a  young  man  ?  " 

"  In  a  coachman's  livery,"  interpolated  Miss 
Faviel. 

"  In  a  coachman's  livery,"  repeated  Mr.  Bigstock, 


142  Mr.  Warley  Sets  out  to  Buy  a  Wardrobe 

"  a-coming  through  this  here  door  into  your  privit 
house?  " 

"  Why,"  said  Mrs.  Green,  "  I  have,  not  three  min- 
utes ago,  I  have."  Mr.  Bigstock's  face  fell,  as  Miss 
Faviel's  suspicions  threatened  to  prove  correct. 
"  And  I  sent  him  off  straight  away  to  find  Mr.  Green 
over  to  the  '  Sow  an'  Pigs.' ' 

"  What  did  I  say,  ma'am  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Bigstock,  in 
sober  triumph.  "  Over  to  the  *  Sow  and  Pigs,'  you 
say,  Mrs.  Green?  " 

"  Yes,  I  do,"  Mrs.  Green  allowed,  "  and  may  my 
tongue,"  she  added  dramatically,  "  never  speak  no 
more  if  it  ain't  the  truth  I'm  tellin'  you,  Mr.  Big- 
stock!" 

"  Hadn't  we  better  hurry  and  see  if  he's  there, 
then?  "  asked  Miss  Faviel,  in  a  fever  of  impatience. 

"  I  must  surely  ask  you  to  step  along  that  way  with 
me,  ma'am,"  said  Mr.  Bigstock  proudly,  as  though, 
having  secured  Miss  Faviel,  he  must  convey  to  her 
that  she  must  indulge  no  vain  hopes  of  immediate 
escape.  "  Good-day,  Mrs.  Green." 

"  Good-day,  Mr.  Bigstock." 

Mr.  Faviel  breathed  again  as  he  heard  the  door  close 
upon  his  pursuers.  Despite  the  continued  precarious- 
ness  of  his  position,  moreover,  he  could  not  refrain 
from  trying  to  picture  to  himself  what  Miss  Faviel, 
accustomed  in  her  own  part  of  the  country  to  be  some- 
what of  an  autocrat,  must  be  wishing  to  say  to  Mr. 
Bigstock. 


CHAPTER  XX 

MR.    BOKE   BUYS   THE   WARDROBE 

COMING  back  to  his  shop  some  ten  minutes  after  the 
events  recorded  in  the  last  chapter,  Mr.  Green,  a  small 
rusty-bearded  man  with  spectacles,  found  a  customer 
waiting  there  for  him.  As  it  was  not  at  all  an  unusual 
thing  for  him  to  find  customers  waiting  for  him,  and 
as  it  was  a  habit  which  had  been  growing  more  and 
more  upon  him  to  be  in  no  hurry  to  part  with  his  wares 
(the  trouble  nowadays  of  extracting  things  from  re- 
mote corners  of  the  shop  more  than  outweighing,  in 
Mr.  Green's  opinion,  the  profit  he  made  from  it),  he 
offered  no  apology  for  having  been  out,  but  started 
upon  the  topic  that  had  caused  his  absence. 

"  See  that  runaway  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Yes." 

"  Pretty  good  pace,"  said  Mr.  Green.  "  Lucky  ther' 
wasn't  nothing  in  the  way,  no  chil'r'n  or  anything. 
He'd  a  gone  clean  through  a  perambulator  that  hoss 
would,  with  the  pace  he'd  got  up.  They  do  say  he 
was  stopped  two  miles  out  by  a  carter.  I  reck'n  the 
parson  '11  have  to  tip  him  for  that,  hey?  Curious 
thing,  the  parson  was  in  here,  same  as  you  are  now, 
when  the  hoss  started,  buying  a  wardrobe " 

"  That's  what  I  want  to  buy." 

"  Do  you?  "  said  Mr.  Green  dispassionately.  "  He'd 
left  his  man  outside  with  the  hoss.  All  of  a  sudden 
the  man  comes  dashin'  in.  '  The  hoss  has  bolted,'  says 

143 


144        Mr.  Boke  Buys  the  Wardrobe 

he.  *  Dang,'  says  the  parson,  or  words  to  that  effect, 
and  out  he  bolts  after  'im.  Out  I  goes,  and  out,  you 
might  say,  the  hull  o'  Waybury  goes.  Down  the  street, 
tally-ho,  the  parson  leading.  I'm  dratted  if  I  remem- 
ber when  I've  run  as  fur  as  I've  run  just  now.  And 
that  reminds  me,  I  never  sold  'im  the  wardrobe  after 
all.  There  it  be."  Mr.  Green  pointed  at  it. 

"Why,  that,"  said  Mr.  Boke,  for  Mr.  Boke 
it  was,  "  that's  the  very  sort  of  wardrobe  I'm 
wanting." 

"  Is  it  ?  "  said  Mr.  Green.  "  I  don't  know  that  you 
can  have  that  one.  I'm  dratted  if  I  remember  where 
we'd  got  to,  the  parson  and  I,  when  we  went  out,  like 
a  pack  o'  hounds,  after  that  hoss.  But  I've  a  notion 
he  fancied  it,  the  parson  did.  I  expect  he'll  be  back 
after  that  wardrobe.  It's  funny,  that  is,  not  knowin' 
whether  you've  as  good  as  sold  a  thing  or  not."  Mr. 
Green  chuckled. 

"  It  is,"  said  Boke.  "  But  suppose  he  don't  come 
back?" 

"Why,  then,"  said  Mr.  Green,  "there  it  'ud  be, 
that's  all." 

It  speaks  much  for  Mr.  Boke  that  at  this  crisis, 
when  many  things  hung  upon  his  success,  and  Mr. 
Green's  attitude  of  unbusinesslike  self-satisfaction 
made  him  long  to  take  up  one  of  the  warming-pans 
and  beat  him  with  it,  he  restrained  himself,  and  in  the 
wiliest  manner  entered  into  Mr.  Green's  aggravating 
humor. 

"  But  suppose  he  did  come  back  and  found  you'd 
sold  it?" 

"  Why,  there  he  'ud  be !  "  said  Mr.  Green,  with  a 
loud  guffaw.  "  There  the  parson  'ud  be.  That's  all. 
Lost  'is  hoss,  and  lost  'is  wardrobe.  He'd  be  in  a 


Mr.  Boke  Buys  the  Wardrobe         145 

taking,  hey?  Sure  that  was  the  sort  of  wardrobe  you 
wanted  ?  " 

"  Quite,"  said  Mr.  Boke. 

"  Very  well,"  said  Mr.  Green,  with  a  sudden  as- 
sumption of  liberality,  "  for  the  fun,  just  for  the  fun 
o't,  you  can  have  it  for  fourteen  pound  ten." 

"  I  say !  "  said  Mr.  Boke,  who,  having  expected  the 
wardrobe  for  half  that  sum,  was  less  open  to  the  comic 
aspect  of  the  bargain. 

"  Or  leave  it,"  said  Mr.  Green,  "  as  you  please." 

"  I'll  take  it,"  said  Mr.  Boke.  It  was  more  than 
likely  that  Mr.  Green  had  paid  a  guinea  for  it  at  the 
outside,  but  again  Mr.  Boke's  knowledge  of  human 
character  warned  him  that  if  he  wanted  to  have  it  there 
and  then,  he  must  submit  to  Mr.  Green's  humor. 

"  Well  then,  there  it  is,"  said  Mr.  Green  more 
affably.  "  Take  it  or  leave  it,  you  know.  I  don't  send 
out." 

"  Oh,  of  course  not,"  said  Mr.  Boke.  "  It  wouldn't 
pay  you.  I'll  get  a  man  directly  from  the  inn  to  move 
it  over  for  me." 

"  I  don't  know  that  you  can  have  it  to-day,"  said 
Mr.  Green.  "  There'll  be  a  lot  o'  work  gettin'  it  outer 
the  back  here." 

"  The  man'll  do  that." 

"  If  I  let  him,"  said  Mr.  Green  tyrannically.  "  I 
don't  keer,  I  don't,  to  have  my  things  smashed  and 
bashed  just  to  please  any  stranger  as  happens  to  pop  in. 
It  ain't  business,  that  ain't.  It's  what  you  want,  I 
dare  say,  but  it  ain't  what  I  want.  I  can't  speak 
plainer  than  that." 

It  would  have  been  difficult  to  speak  more  plainly 
under  the  circumstances,  and  most  men  might  well 
have  given  up  at  this  juncture.  Mr.  Boke  made  a  final 


146        Mr.  Boke  Buys  the  Wardrobe 

effort — "  Well,"  he  said — "  if  I  can't  have  it  now,  I 
can't.  But  what  made  me  want  it  particularly  was 
thinking  of  that  joke  of  yours  about  the  parson  not 
knowing  if  he'd  bought  it  or  not,  and  coming  back 
maybe  an  hour  later  to  find  it  gone.  You'd  have  the 
laugh  of  him." 

"  Why,  that's  true,"  said  Mr.  Green,  screwing  up 
his  skinny  face  to  indulge  in  a  cackle.  "  That's  true, 
— I  would — I'd  like  to  see  'is  face  when  'e  come  back 
an'  it's  gone.  I'd  tell  'im  it  was  the  next  one  'e'd  been 
asking  for — that  smaller'n — and  that  it  'ad  shrunk  a 
bit  while  'e  was  away.  Right  'o,  you  can  take  it. 
Fourteen  pound  twelve.  Only  you'll  have  to  take  it 
sharp.  It's  gettin'  nigh  to  my  dinner-time." 

Mr.  Boke  did  not  pause  to  comment  on  the  extra 
two  shillings  that  Mr.  Green  had  packed  on  to  the 
price  to  mark  his  condescension  in  letting  the  wardrobe 
go  immediately,  but  drew  out  some  dirty  banknotes 
and  handed  them  over.  "  I'll  go  across  to  the  inn 
while  you're  getting  the  change,"  he  said.  "  I  s'pose 
you'll  be  in  the  shop  while  I'm  away  ?  " 

"  'Course  I  shall,"  said  Mr.  Green.  "  Why  shouldn't 
I  be?" 

"  Oh,  no  reason,  no  reason." 

By  great  good  luck  Mr.  Boke  found  the  landlord  of 
the  "  Sow  and  Pigs  "  amenable  to  the  suggestion  that 
a  cart — any  cart,  and  a  driver — should  be  hired  out 
for  the  purpose  of  driving  a  wardrobe  from  Mr. 
Green's  to  Captain  Bunbury's  place,  as  Mr.  Boke  called 
it,  at  Hanging  Coppice,  for  the  consideration  of  ten 
shillings  for  the  cart,  and  sixpence  for  the  driver,  and 
a  pink-faced  man  who  was  found  asleep  in  the  stables 
of  the  "  Sow  and  Pigs  "  was  aroused  and  appointed 
to  that  post.  Refreshed  by  his  slumbers  and  by  Mr. 


Mr.  Boke  Buys  the  Wardrobe         147 

Boke's  promise  that  another  sixpence  should  be  added 
to  his  pay,  if  he  stirred  his  timbers,  the  pink-faced 
man  routed  out  a  horse  and  cart  with  unexpected 
celerity,  and  also  proved  himself  a  man  for  an 
emergency  by  procuring  another  equally  pink-faced 
man,  who  might  have  been  his  twin,  to  help  get 
the  wardrobe  out  of  Mr.  Green's  shop  and  to  the 
cart. 

It  was  a  delicate  matter,  this,  for  the  wardrobe  was 
heavy,  and  Mr.  Green  in  a  fever  about  possible  dam- 
ages to  the  other  things  in  the  shop.  But  the  pink- 
faced  men  were  imperturbably  good-natured  in  the 
face  of  insult,  and  within  an  hour  of  the  time  that 
Sir  Gawain  had  started  careering  down  the  High 
Street  of  Waybury,  the  wardrobe  was  on  the  cart  and 
ready  for  the  journey.  Mr.  Boke  had  had  a  stout 
piece  of  rope,  borrowed  from  the  "  Sow  and  Pigs," 
tied  round  it  tightly  to  prevent — he  said — the  doors 
from  flying  open. 

"  Ready,  my  lad  ?  "  he  said  to  the  original  pink- 
faced  man. 

"  Yessir." 

"  Forrard,  then !  "  said  Mr.  Boke. 

"  Wait  a  bit,"  said  Mr.  Green,  who  had  been  inspect- 
ing the  track  of  the  wardrobe  through  his  shop  on 
hands  and  knees.  "  Wait  a  bit,  you've  bin  and  broke 
a  copper  kettle  with  your  clumpsy  goings  on.  You'll 
'ave  to  pay  for  that,  four  and  nine.  And  there's  a 
cannel-stick  cracked.  That'll  cost  tenpence." 

"Anything  else?"  asked  Mr.  Boke  affably.  The 
pink-faced  man  had  already  cracked  his  whip  and 
started  on. 

"  Yes,"  said  Mr.  Green,  deceived  by  Mr.  Boke's 
previous  meekness.  "  There's  a  coaled-scuttle  'ad  'arf 


148         Mr.  Boke  Buys  the  Wardrobe 

the  paint  taken  off  it.  'Arf  a  crown  I'll  charge  you 
for  that,  and " 

"  Look  here,"  said  Mr.  Boke,  suddenly  stepping 
towards  the  little  man.  "  There  ain't  much  paint  on 
you,  you  mealy,  measly,  exigious  little  hatch-headed 
son  of  a  crab,  but  if  you  don't  double-quick  into  your 
privit  rat-run,  I'll  scrape  your  nose  along  the  gutter 
till  you  can't  see  out  of  either  of  them  beady  squinters 
of  yours,  not  if  you  had  'em  plated  over  with  sixteen 
pairs  of  goggles.  Charge  me,  will  you?  "  Mr.  Boke's 
aspect  was  so  fierce  as  he  delivered  these  words,  that 
Mr.  Green  simply  turned  and  fled  into  his  premises, 
without  so  much  as  giving  a  glance  to  see  if  Waybury 
could  give  him  any  assistance  if  he  were  pursued. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  High  Street  was  as  empty 
as  when  Faviel  drove  through  with  Mr.  Warley  an 
hour  before.  It  was  emptier  indeed,  for  the  lunch- 
hour  had  arrived,  when  country-folk  eat  and  sleep ;  and 
along  the  road  nothing  was  visible  but  the  cart,  top- 
heavy  with  the  wardrobe,  and  the  pink-faced  man 
trudging  beside  it  cracking  his  whip. 

With  a  snort  proceeding  from  mixed  feelings  of 
fatigue  and  triumph,  Mr.  Boke  hastened  after  it.  He 
had  achieved  much  that  morning  from  the  time  he  had 
overheard — by  eavesdropping — that  the  rector  was  to 
be  driven  into  Waybury.  If  he  had  had  the  time  at 
his  disposal,  he  would  have  sent  Coppenwell  to  mark 
Faviel  instead  of  going  himself — partly  by  running, 
partly  by  the  aid  of  a  friendly  butcher's  cart.  But 
if  he  had  sent  Coppenwell,  and  Coppenwell  as  a  matter 
of  fact  was  at  the  mill  that  morning,  the  watch  on 
Faviel  being  kept  by  turns,  there  would  never  have 
been  so  brilliant  a  denouement  to  the  weary  search. 
Coppenwell  was  smart,  but  he  was  too  young  for  such 


Mr.  Boke  Buys  the  Wardrobe         149 

an  artistic  piece  of  work.  He  would  never  have 
thought  of  watching  at  Mr.  Green's  window;  or  even 
if  he  had,  he  would  never  have  had  the  audacity  to 
buy  the  wardrobe.  Only  a  master  mind  would  have 
decided  on  it  and  carried  it  through  so  neatly.  He 
had  been  afraid — Mr.  Boke  had — after  receiving 
Blenkenstein's  message  that  he  would  have  to  make  a 
rough  and  ready  job  of  it — kidnap  his  man  by  force — 
always  a  risky  thing  to  do  in  a  civilized  country.  As 
it  was  he  had  merely  bought  a  wardrobe,  and  not  a 
soul  but  himself  knew  what  the  wardrobe  contained. 
All  that  remained  to  be  done  was  to  cart  that  wardrobe 
to  the  mill  he  had  rented  in  the  name  of  Captain 
Bunbury  and  keep  him  in  it  as  long  as  was  necessary. 
There  were  fifty  chances  to  one  against  any  one  coming 
near  the  mill  in  the  next  ten  days;  a  thousand  to  one 
against  their  suspecting  that  a  man  was  held  up  there 
illegally  and  by  force. 

Mr.  Boke  had  chosen  his  position  well. 

He  wished,  however,  as  he  walked  along  beside  the 
pink- faced  man,  that  the  mill  were  rather  handier  at 
the  present  moment. 

The  heat  which  had  been  great  in  the  morning 
seemed  to  have  increased  in  intensity.  The  cart 
traveled  in  a  white  cloud  of  dust,  and  the  pink-faced 
man  at  the  end  of  the  first  mile  or  two  had  turned  into 
the  semblance  of  a  miller.  The  road  from  Way  bury 
to  the  mill  was  a  different  one  from  that  shady  avenue 
which  led  to  Langston  Bucket;  it  was  an  open  road, 
flanked  by  low  hedges,  from  which  the  trees,  if  there 
had  ever  been  any,  had  long  since  disappeared.  The 
sun  raked  it  fore  and  aft.  Decidedly  the  mill  might 
with  advantage  have  been  handier. 

So  Mr.  Boke  thought,  with  a  red  pocket  handker- 


150        Mr.  Boke  Buys  the  Wardrobe 

chief  flapping  under  his  hat,  and  to  him,  so  thinking, 
the  sight  of  a  little  inn,  standing  back  at  the  cross  of 
the  road  behind  two  poplars,  came  like  the  vision  of  an 
oasis  to  a  traveler  in  the  desert. 

"  You  can  wait  a  bit  here,"  he  said  to  the  pink- 
faced  man,  who  had  already  drawn  up  in  anticipation 
of  some  such  order.  "  I'm  going  in  to  get  a  drink." 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  the  pink-faced  man  understand- 
ing^- 

"  I  shan't  be  a  minute,"  said  Mr.  Boke  encourag- 
ingly. "  You  stick  by  the  cart.  I  don't  want  that 
wardrobe  lost  sight  of.  See?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  the  pink-faced  man,  in  a  flat  key. 

Mr.  Boke  hurried  in  through  the  little  wooden  porch 
into  the  grateful  gloom  of  the  bar  parlor,  with  its 
sanded  floor  and  cool  smell  of  malt. 

"  A  pint  of  bitter,  ma'am,"  he  said  to  the  woman 
who  responded  to  his  call,  and  sank  into  a  settle.  It 
was  not  his  intention  to  forget  the  pink-faced  man, 
by  whom  a  pint  of  beer  would  no  doubt  be  welcomed. 
Indeed  Mr.  Boke,  whose  considerateness  was  great, 
wondered,  as  the  cool  liquor  flowed  down  his  throat, 
whether  he  could  not,  by  some  means  or  other,  also 
convey  a  pint  to  the  unfortunate  prisoner  in  the  ward- 
robe. Not  quite  seeing  his  way  to  this  act  of  mercy 
he  ordered  another  pint,  and  sipped  it  contemplatively. 
The  minute  he  had  undertaken  to  be  absent  grew  to 
five  minutes,  and  the  five  to  ten,  and  Mr.  Boke  was 
still  sipping. 

Meanwhile  the  pink-faced  man,  not  understanding 
what  was  in  store  for  him,  grew  restive.  It  was  all 
very  well  for  the  gentleman  to  be  in  there,  and  the 
pink-faced  man  did  not  mind  waiting  a  bit,  though  the 
poplars  gave  no  shade  at  all,  and  even  in  their  feathery 


Mr.  Boke  Buys  the  Wardrobe         151 

tops  scarcely  held  a  cupful  of  wind.  But  suppose  the 
gentleman  came  out  when  he'd  done  his  drinking  and 
wanted  to  go  straight  on.  He  was  in  a  bit  of  a  hurry, 
except  when  he  was  drinking  himself.  The  possibility 
of  going  straight  on  without  a  mug  of  beer  did  not 
appeal  to  the  pink-faced  man.  It  seemed  to  him  a 
monstrous  possibility,  and  all  because  the  gentleman 
wanted  an  eye  kept  on  the  wardrobe.  But  the  ward- 
robe couldn't  run  away.  The  horse  certainly  wouldn't. 
The  pink-faced  man  knew  the  horse  well  enough  to 
swear  that  the  horse  wouldn't  move,  unless  you  jogged 
him. 

There  was  a  little  path  that  ran  round  to  the  back 
of  the  inn.  The  pink-faced  man  followed  it.  He 
would  not  disturb  the  gentleman  at  his  drinking,  but 
he  would  prevent  the  horrible  contingency  of  an  honest 
driver  being  suddenly  moved  on  without  so  much  as 
having  wetted  his  whistle. 

"  A  pint,  mum,"  said  the  pink-faced  man  to  the 
landlady,  as  she  came  round  to  the  back,  "  and  if  you'd 
kindly  let  me  know  when  the  gent  what's  inside  'as 
done  'is  drinking!  "  The  pink- faced  man  delivered  a 
slow  wink  that  was  rather  an  explanation  than  a  sub- 
tlety. "  Here's  wishin'  you  health,  mum,"  he  added, 
and  put  his  head  back  skilfully. 

The  landlady  nodded.  She  had  just  taken  Mr. 
Boke  his  third  pint. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

JIMMY   INTERVENES 

JIMMY  was  out  for  the  day  between  lunch  and 
dinner-time  for  a  bribe  of  one  shilling  and  sixpence 
per  hour.  Jimmy  was  not  averse  to  accepting  a  bribe, 
providing  it  was  diplomatically  offered ;  and  Lady  Mal- 
lendon,  who  had  received  a  hint  from  O'Levin  that 
rehearsals  were  likely  to  go  more  smoothly  without  the 
assistance  of  Jimmy's  criticisms  and  emendations,  had 
been  diplomatic. 

"  It's  so  very  disappointing  for  you  that  your  friend 
Butt  couldn't  come,"  she  said,  referring  to  the  fact 
that  a  school  friend  of  Jimmy's,  who  had  promised 
to  come  and  stop  a  few  days  had  developed  mumps, 
much  to  Jimmy's  indignation,  "  but  you  mustn't  allow 
it  to  weigh  on  your  spirits.  And  I  do  think,  Jimmy, 
you  ought  to  go  for  a  long  walk.  It  would  do  you  so 
much  good.  You're  looking  quite  pale  for  want  of 
exercise." 

This  was  not  perfectly  true,  but  it  was,  as  has  been 
said,  diplomatic. 

"  Quel  est  le  jeu?  "  said  Jimmy  lazily. 

"  I  want  you  to  go  for  a  long,  long  walk." 

"Combiang?"  said  Jimmy. 

"  I  don't  think,"  said  Lady  Mallendon,  "  that  you 
ought  to  bargain  with  me  like  that.  It  isn't  right. 
But  I  should  like  it  to  be  a  really  long  walk." 

"  Bob  an  hour?  "  Jimmy  suggested. 
152 


Jimmy  Intervenes  153 

"  I  do  wish  you  wouldn't  use  slang,"  said  Lady 
Mallendon  pathetically.  "  What  is  a  bob?  " 

"  Half-a-crown!  "  said  Jimmy,  who  disliked  inno- 
cence. 

"  Oh,  that's  too  much,"  said  Lady  Mallendon  firmly. 
"  I  couldn't  give  more  than  a  shilling  and — and  six- 
pence." 

"  Cash  down !  "  said  Jimmy.  "  I'll  take  four  hours' 
worth  to  start  with,  and  see  how  things  pan  out.  It's 
jolly  cheap  for  a  stuffy  day  like  this." 

Lady  Mallendon  paid  up  the  sum,  conscious  that 
Jimmy  having  made  a  bargain  would  stick  to  it,  which, 
considering  how  simple  an  art  it  was  to  work  upon 
Lady  Mallendon's  feelings,  was  greatly  to  Jimmy's 
credit. 

It  was  Jimmy's  intention  to  get  his  father  to  go 
out  with  him,  but  Sir  Jasper,  who  had  sustained  an 
injury  to  the  wrists  as  a  result  of  hanging  by  them 
for  a  couple  of  agonizing  minutes  from  the  bough  of 
a  tree,  up  which  Jimmy  had  decoyed  him  the  evening 
before  (to  photograph  a  bird's  nest) — and  from  which 
Sir  Jasper  had  finally  dropped,  luckily  without  break- 
ing any  bones — declined  to  be  drawn. 

"  Must  have  a  breathing-space  between  the  battles," 
said  Sir  Jasper. 

"  We  shouldn't  be  going  after  birds  this  time," 
Jimmy  said  persuasively.  "  At  least  I  thought  of  look- 
ing for  a  kingfisher's  nest  for  you.  There  wouldn't 
be  any  climbing  for  that." 

"  Wading,"  said  Sir  Jasper.  "  Gout — no  thank'ee. 
Not  to-day,  Jimmy." 

"  All  right,"  said  Jimmy.  "  I  thought  you'd  like  it. 
That's  all." 

"  Well,  so  I  should,"  Sir  Jasper  allowed.     "  Any 


154  Jimmy  Intervenes 

other  day,  you  know.  You  find  the  nest,  and  we'll 
see.  Five  bob?  No,  I  don't  think  I've  got  it.  Be- 
sides, what  do  you  want  with  it,  eh  ?  Saw  Ames  give 
me  two  half-crowns  in  change?  Well,  there  you  are. 
Don't  spend  'em." 

"  I'll  have  them  made  into  tie-pins  for  your  birth- 
day," said  Jimmy  sarcastically,  and  departed,  mod- 
erately well  endowed  for  his  afternoon  out.  He  was 
not  exactly  a  spendthrift  boy,  but  he  liked  to  have 
money  with  him,  in  case  he  saw  anything  that  he 
fancied  or  anybody  asked  him  for  some. 

Armed  with  an  air-gun  walking-stick — a  recent  pur- 
chase, the  price  of  which  he  had  earned  somewhat 
easily  a  few  days  before,  by  consenting  to  have  his 
hair  cut — Jimmy  set  out  with  no  particular  object  in 
his  mind,  except  that  of  serving  his  time,  so  to  speak, 
conscientiously  and  potting  anything  that  might  come 
within  a  sporting  range — from  a  lamp-post  down- 
wards. He  was  not  in  the  best  of  spirits,  partly  be- 
cause of  his  friend's  failure  to  arrive,  partly  because 
the  perpetual  fussings  about  Miss  Finch's  play,  and  the 
setting  aside  of  all  decent  amusement  for  that  purpose, 
had  got  on  his  nerves  for  the  last  day  or  two.  Judith, 
too,  consenting  to  have  Mr.  Blenkenstein  hanging 
about  annoyed  him.  He  had  not  been  initiated  into 
the  exact  arrangement  between  these  two,  but  he  un- 
derstood vaguely  that  there  was  a  chance — to  say  the 
least  of  it — of  the  beast  becoming  at  some  future  day 
his  cousin-in-law.  The  possibility  lowered  Jimmy  in 
his  own  esteem.  A  promise  he  had  given  not  delib- 
erately to  annoy  Blenkenstein  further  irritated  him. 
He  had  given  it  at  Judith's  request,  but  that  was  before 
he  had  understood  what  was  going  on.  He  did  not 
profess  to  understand  now  thoroughly,  but  he  felt  that 


Jimmy  Intervenes  155 

if  he  had  understood  as  much  as  he  did  before,  he 
would  never  have  given  the  promise.  Girls,  it  seemed, 
had  to  be  protected  against  themselves,  but  he  had 
bound  himself  over  not  to  protect  Judy. 

Altogether  Jimmy  was  depressed,  and  saw  very 
little  fun  in  prospect  during  the  next  week,  unless  it 
was  the  prospect  of  observing  Mr.  Wormyer  in  process 
of  falling  in  love  with  Miss  Finch.  O'Levin  had 
thoughtlessly  suggested  this  in  Jimmy's  hearing,  and 
Jimmy  had  promised  himself  some  amusement  from 
it.  He  was  reminded  of  it  when  passing  Miss  Finch 
on  his  way  out,  and,  later  on,  by  the  sight  of  Mr. 
Wormyer  hurrying  along  to  take  part  in  the  after- 
noon's rehearsals,  just  as  Jimmy  was  issuing  forth 
from  the  lodge  gates.  He  greeted  Mr.  Wormyer  now 
with  a  wave  of  the  hand,  after  the  manner  of  Mr. 
Bayford. 

"  And  how  is  the  world  treating  you,  Wormyer  ?  " 
said  Jimmy,  in  Mr.  Bayford's  voice.  "  How  is  the 
world  treating  you  ?  " 

The  curate,  who  was  an  unobservant  little  man, 
and  plunged  in  the  abstraction  of  joyous  contempla- 
tion, replied  innocently, 

"  Very  well,  I  thank  you,  Mr.  Bay Oh,  Mr. 

Jimmy,  is  it  ?  I  am  not  late,  I  trust  ?  " 

"  I  don't  think  so,"  said  Jimmy.  "  In  fact,  just  as 
I  came  away,  Miss  Finch  was  going  out  for  a  walk,  a 
little  walk — she  said." 

"  Oh  dear,  perhaps  I  am  too  early  then?  " 

"  This  way — to  meet  some  one.  They  were  rather," 
— Jimmy  said  ingenuously — "  ragging  her  about  it. 
Hullo,"  he  added,  "  there  she  conies.  I  expect  you'd 
like  me  to  go  on  ?  " 


156  Jimmy  Intervenes 

"  Why — er,"  said  Mr.  Wormyer,  coloring,  "  do  you 

mean  that — I  am  such " 

But  Jimmy  moved  on  his  way,  chanting — 

"Come  sheep,  come  shepherds;  come  every  one," 

leaving  Mr.  Wormyer  in  considerable  confusion,  the 
more  especially  as  the  Mordants'  brake  containing  an- 
other relay  of  dramatis  persons,  including  Miss  Etta 
Warley,  was  just  coming  up  from  behind,  and  Jimmy 
appeared  to  be  making  gesticulations  to  its  occupants, 
which  might,  Mr.  Wormyer  thought,  be  a  continuation 
of  a  jest  which,  he  was  sure,  Miss  Finch  would  con- 
sider in  bad  taste. 

Jimmy,  however,  was  not  sunk  low  enough,  despite 
his  low  spirits,  for  this.  He  was  merely  mimicking 
Mr.  Bayford's  method  of  saluting  for  Miss  Warley's 
benefit,  Miss  Warley  and  he  having  struck  up  rather 
a  friendship;  and  he  would  not  have  done  this,  but 
that  the  others  were  not  sufficiently  acquainted  with 
Mr.  Bayford  to  understand. 

Still,  it  must  be  confessed  Jimmy's  methods  were 
not  as  high-toned  that  afternoon  as  they  generally 
were.  Otherwise,  he  would  hardly  have  done  what  he 
did  later. 

This  was  to  shoot  at  a  farmer,  and  it  was  done, 
Jimmy  considered,  under  provocation.  The  event  oc- 
curred a  good  hour  later,  and  the  provocation  was 
offered  under  the  following  circumstances.  Jimmy 
having  wandered  about  six  miles  from  his  own  home 
was  proceeding  along  the  edge  of  a  field,  taking  occa- 
sional shots  with  the  gun-stick  at  things  that  attracted 
his  attention,  when  a  well-made  scarecrow  drew  his 
eye.  It  struck  Jimmy  that  here  was  a  mark  which 


Jimmy  Intervenes  157 

would  really  test  the  gun.  Hitherto  that  weapon  had 
not  succeeded  in  hitting  anything,  which  Jimmy  was 
beginning  to  be  afraid  was  due  to  the  fact  that  it  shot 
crooked,  though  he  was  willing  to  admit  that  it  is  not 
easy  to  shoot  a  swallow  on  the  wing — or  even  on  a 
telegraph  wire — with  a  small  bullet.  A  dozen  shots 
at  a  scarecrow  would  be  the  very  thing. 

He  had  had  four  of  his  dozen  and  hit  the  scarecrow 
once — in  the  hat — when  a  shout  from  the  other  side  of 
the  field  informed  him  that  there  was  a  spectator  of 
his  powers.  As,  however,  the  shout  was  from  the 
other  side  of  the  field,  which  was  a  large  one — of  corn 
— not  therefore  to  be  traversed  except  on  the  circum- 
ference; and  as,  in  any  case,  he  was  not  doing  any 
harm  that  he  knew  of,  and  would  have  been  rather 
glad  if  he  had  been,  Jimmy  paid  no  attention  whatever 
to  the  shout;  and  he  had  got  as  far  as  his  ninth  shot, 
a  very  successful  one  which  unfortunately  knocked 
the  hat  of  the  scarecrow  clean  off,  before  he  came 
aware  that  the  shouter  was  a  man  of  annoying  deter- 
mination. 

"  You  little  varment.  I'll  wring  yer  neck  for  'ee, 
when  I  get  'ee." 

The  shout  was  so  very  distinct  that  Jimmy  perforce 
looked  round  and  beheld  a  gaitered  man,  very  red  in 
the  face,  hurrying  towards  him  along  the  edge  of  the 
corn. 

Jimmy  measured  the  distance  between  himself  and 
the  gaitered  man,  decided  that  it  was  still  fifty  yards, 
reflected  again  that  he  was  not  doing  any  harm,  and 
took  his  tenth  shot. 

"  I'll  thrash  'ee  till  'ee  wriggle,"  yelled  the  farmer. 

Jimmy  took  his  eleventh  shot  at  the  scarecrow,  and 
turned  smartly. 


158  Jimmy  Intervenes 

"  Did  you  want  to  know  the  time  ?  "  he  inquired, 
walking  backwards. 

"I'll  dang  'ee.  You  shoot  at  me!  Ow!"  The 
farmer  leaped  and  howled,  as  the  gun-stick,  which 
Jimmy  had  undoubtedly  pointed  in  his  direction,  went 
off.  As  Jimmy  said  afterwards,  it  would  not  have  hurt 
him,  even  if  it  had  hit  him,  and  he  deserved  to  be  hit. 
Decent  farmers  do  not  threaten  to  thrash  you  because 
you  are  practising  at  their  scarecrow,  practically,  that 
is  to  say,  keeping  off  the  birds  for  them.  It  was  not, 
as  Jimmy  pointed  out,  as  if  he  had  been  walking 
through  the  corn. 

Jimmy  pointed  out  these  things  afterwards.  At  the 
time,  immediately  upon  the  discharge  of  his  twelfth 
shot,  he  fled.  There  was  nothing  else  to  be  done. 
Jimmy  fled  precipitately,  with  a  start  of  some  twenty- 
five  yards,  and  cleared  over  the  field  gate  into  a  lane 
with  a  slight  increase  of  his  lead,  which  was  further 
increased  by  the  farmer's  inability  to  vault  the  gate. 
Jimmy  rather  hoped,  the  day  being  such  a  hot  one, 
that  the  farmer's  enthusiasm  would  wane  at  that  point, 
but  he  was  destined  to  disappointment.  Either  the 
loss  of  his  scarecrow's  hat,  or  the  attempt  upon  his 
own  limbs,  had  so  stirred  the  farmer's  wrath  that  he 
had,  it  seemed,  no  thought  of  abandoning  the  pursuit. 
The  lane  was  a  grass-grown  one,  and  deadened  the 
sound  of  running,  but  the  heavy  breathing  in  Jimmy's 
rear  was  clear  warning  that  he  must  not  stop.  Re- 
luctantly, at  the  next  bend  in  the  lane,  Jimmy  pitched 
his  walking-stick  gun  over  the  hedge,  and  left  himself 
free  to  solve  the  problem  of  his  escape  with  his  head 
and  his  heels.  He  would  have  felt  easier  if  he  had 
known  just  where  the  lane  came  out.  A  little  nearer 
home  he  would  have  been  able  to  take  to  the  fields, 


Jimmy  Intervenes  159 

since  he  knew  them  all  well,  and  effect  some  doubling, 
which  would  have  been  much  more  to  his  mind  than 
a  stern  chase,  possibly  long,  but  likely  to  be  fatal  if 
the  farmer  had  a  good  wind. 

He  had  almost  made  up  his  mind,  having  seen  the 
farmer  down  a  long  straight  bit  a  minute  before,  going 
steadily,  that  he  must  try  the  fields  anyhow,  and  risk 
getting  stuck  in  a  hedge  for  some  time,  when  the  lane 
suddenly  terminated  in  a  road.  Ten  yards  down  the 
road,  and  standing  back  a  little  behind  two  tall  poplars, 
was  an  inn,  and  outside  it  stood  a  cart  and  horse. 

Inside  the  inn,  Mr.  Boke  was  sipping  his  third  pint, 
and  at  the  back  of  it  the  pink-faced  man  was  draining 
his  second.  Inside  the  cart  was  a  wardrobe,  and  inside 
the  wardrobe  was  Mr.  Faviel.  Jimmy  knew  none  of 
these  things. 

All  he  knew  was  that  the  inn  was  the  "  Dun  Cow," 
and  stood  at  the  cross-roads  about  six  miles  from  The 
Ashlands,  and  that  a  cart  and  horse,  driverless,  stood 
there  too.  Within  ten  seconds  of  realizing  these  facts, 
Jimmy  was  in  the  driver's  seat:  in  fifteen,  the  horse 
was  cantering  down  the  branch  road  which  led  to  The 
Ashlands.  This  road  turned  almost  instantly  at  right 
angles  to  the  way  it  cut  the  other  road,  and  it  was  to 
this  fact  that  Jimmy,  though  he  did  not  know  it,  owed 
his  escape. 

The  farmer,  arriving  at  the  lane's  end  rather  more 
than  a  minute  behind  Jimmy,  pulled  up.  The  boy 
might  have  dodged  in  there,  or  he  might  have  run 
on. 

Deciding  that  he  had  better  make  sure  that  he  had 
not  run  on  before  he  examined  into  the  question  of 
whether  he  had  dodged  into  the  inn,  the  farmer 
hastened  to  the  cross  of  the  roads  some  few  seconds 


160  Jimmy  Intervenes 

after  Jimmy  had  turned  the  corner  in  the  cart  belong- 
ing to  the  "  Sow  and  Pigs." 

The  sound  of  wheels  in  the  invisible  distance  sig- 
nified nothing  to  the  farmer,  who  judged  that  Jimmy, 
probably  at  least  as  blown  as  himself,  could  hardly 
have  got  out  of  sight  if  he  had  kept  to  any  one  of  the 
roads.  He  therefore  dashed  across  to  the  inn,  and 
almost  into  the  arms  of  Mr.  Boke,  who,  having  heard 
the  sound  of  wheels,  and  imagining  some  other  vehicle 
had  arrived,  thought  it  a  wise  step  to  see  that  no  com- 
munication took  place  (though,  indeed,  none  was  likely 
to)  between  the  newcomer  and  the  prisoner  of  the 
wardrobe.  He  had  risen  leisurely  and  the  entrance  of 
the  farmer  stopped  him. 

"  Ha'  you  seen  a  lad  by  any  chance  come  in  here?  " 
asked  that  irate  person.  "  Been  shootin'  at  me,  the 
lad  has." 

"  Lor,  no !  "  said  Mr.  Boke. 

The  farmer  banged  on  the  bar  with  both  his  fists. 

"  Mrs.  Cleavin,  hi !  "  he  called. 

"  Lord,  Mr.  Dunt !  "  said  the  landlady,  hurrying  out. 
"  Whatever  be  the  matter?  " 

The  farmer  explained  again  with  the  utmost 
vociferousness. 

"  I've  promised  to  give  un  a  thrashin',  and  I  will, 
dang  it,"  he  said.  "  He  must  ha'  run  into  your  garden, 
Mrs.  Cleavin,  but  I'll  ha'  un  out " 

"  Why,  you're  welcome  to  look,  I'm  sure,"  said  the 

landlady,  "  but  nobody  ain't  been  there  save "  She 

looked  at  Mr.  Boke,  and  paused.  The  pink-faced  man 
was  still  there,  quaffing. 

"  Sure  he  hasn't  got  away  on  one  the  roads?  "  said 
Mr.  Boke,  his  professional  interest  aroused. 

"  Well,  I  looked  afore  I  came  in  here,"  said  the 


Jimmy  Intervenes  161 

wrathful  Mr.  Dunt.  "  He  can't  have  had  the  time,  I 
say." 

"  We'll  take  another  glimpse,"  said  Mr.  Boke,  issu- 
ing forth  in  the  most  friendly  way,  followed  by  the 
landlady  and  Mr.  Dunt.  "  He  might— hullo !  "  The 
absence  of  the  cart,  which  was  in  no  way  extraordinary 
to  Mr.  Dunt,  seeing  that  it  had  not  been  there  when 
he  arrived,  instantly  struck  him.  "  Has  my  man  gone 
on  with  that  wardrobe? "  he  asked  the  landlady 
sharply. 

"  Why,  sir,  no.  He  ain't."  Mrs.  Cleavin  shook  her 
head  deprecatingly.  "  He's  havin'  'arf  a  pint,  sir." 

"  Then — damnation !  "  shrieked  Mr.  Boke,  "  where 
is  it?" 

The  sight  of  a  man  suddenly  brought  to  a  greater 
pitch  of  fury  than  himself  slightly  mollified  Mr.  Dunt. 

"The  lad  couldn't,  I  s'pose,"  he  suggested,  "ha' 
driven  the  cart  off?  Now  I  come  to  think  of  it,  I  did 
hear  wheels  in  the  distance,  like." 

"  Which  way?  "  said  Mr.  Boke. 

"  Danged  if  I  remember!  "  said  Mr.  Dunt,  and  Mr. 
Boke's  language  was  something  new  to  the  country. 

"  I  wouldn't  expect  a  man  to  talk  like  that,"  said 
Mrs.  Cleavin  later  on,  when  Mr.  Boke  had  departed, 
almost  apopletic,  leaving  the  pink-faced  man  dumb 
with  a  sense  of  his  sins,  "  not  if  some  one  had  stole  'is 
'oarded  hall.  Whereas,  it  ain't,  Mr.  Dunt,  if  you'll 
believe  me,  not  even  'is  own  'orse  and  cart.  That's 
the  '  Sow  and  Pigs's,'  from  Waybury.  It's  only  a  old 
wardrobe  which  'e  bought  second-'and,  and  is  boun'  to 
turn  up  agen.  I  s'pose  'e  must  be  a  anticologist,  being 
in  such  a  bluster  about  a  old  wardrobe.  But,  whatever 
'e  is,  'e  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  'isself." 


CHAPTER  XXII 

THE   OPENING   OF  THE   WARDROBE 

IT  was  getting  on  for  twilight  when  Jimmy  drove 
into  The  Ashlands,  and  he  estimated  that  he  had 
earned  another  three  shillings  at  least.  He  had  been 
strongly  tempted  when  he  first  set  off  with  the  cart  to 
drive  straight  home,  since  the  consequences  of  being 
arrested  red-handed  and  solitary  by  the  owner  of  the 
cart,  might,  he  judged,  be  even  less  pleasant  than  those 
with  which  the  farmer  had  threatened  him  in  the  first 
instance. 

With  characteristic  honorableness,  however,  he  had 
decided  that  he  must  make  good  his  four  hours'  ab- 
sence, since  he  had  taken  money  for  it,  and  was  pre- 
vented from  returning  the  same  by  the  fact  that  all 
but  half-a-crown  had  dropped  through  a  hole  in  his 
pocket  during  his  smart  run  with  the  farmer. 

The  first  thing  Jimmy  did,  therefore,  was  to  divert 
his  horse  along  a  track  that  led  to  a  favorite  spot  of 
his — some  underwood  going  down  to  the  banks  of  that 
very  stream  where  he  had  proposed  to  his  father  to 
try  for  a  kingfisher's  nest.  It  was  a  peaceful  spot, 
some  distance  from  the  road,  and  concealed  from  any 
one,  even  in  the  immediate  vicinity,  by  trees.  In  case 
of  pursuit,  Jimmy,  by  crossing  the  stream,  could  attain 
a  good  vantage  ground,  from  which  either  to  retire 
or  to  defend  himself.  The  opposite  bank  offered  a 
choice  collection  of  stones. 

162 


The  Opening  of  the  Wardrobe        163 

That  he  did  not  abandon  the  horse  and  cart  was 
really  a  testimony  to  Jimmy's  considerateness.  He 
was  prepared  to  abandon  it,  if  pursued;  otherwise,  he 
thought,  it  would  be  fairer  to  the  driver  to  convey 
it  to  The  Ashlands,  since,  if  the  man  got  into  a  row 
with  his  employer  for  losing  it,  Sir  Jasper  would  un- 
doubtedly recompense  him.  Besides,  the  horse  had 
been  of  noble  assistance  to  him  at  a  critical  moment. 
He  unharnessed  it,  therefore,  and  having  tethered  it 
in  a  lush  piece  of  grass,  began  his  researches  for  a 
kingfisher's  nest.  During  these,  the  time  had  gone  so 
pleasantly  that  it  was  not  until  the  pangs  of  hunger 
began  to  assail  him,  that  he  thought  of  getting  home. 

Thereupon,  having  re-harnessed  the  horse,  he  had 
driven  home,  quite  uneventfully.  It  was  only  as  he 
drew  near  to  the  house  that  the  possession  of  the  cart 
and  horse  became  an  embarrassment  to  him.  He  did 
not  quite  know  what  to  do  with  them.  He  was  not 
quite  prepared  to  own  up  about  them  immediately,  the 
more  so  as  people  appeared  to  be  at  dinner,  and  Jimmy 
was  hungry  himself,  and  did  not  want  to  wait  about 
longer  than  he  could  help.  He  had  just  got  down,  and 
was  holding  the  horse's  head,  reflecting  that  the  horse 
deserved  well  of  him,  and  ought  to  have  a  feed,  when 
Ropes,  the  head  gardener,  came  grumbling  by. 

"  What  ha'  you  got  there,  Master  Jimmy  ?  "  he  asked 
suspiciously. 

"  A  wardrobe,"  said  Jimmy. 

"Another  of  they  theatrical  properties,  is  it?" 
asked  Mr.  Ropes,  these  being  his  present  bugbear. 
"  What  do  they  want  with  a  wardrobe,  I'd  like  to 
know;  isn't  there  enough  rubbish  been  carted  on  to 
the  turf,  as  'tis,  and  the  clumsy  fellows  smashing  the 
shrubs  as  they  go  by?  What  it  is  to  be  like  when  the 


164        The  Opening  of  the  Wardrobe 

mob's  been  here,  Lord  knows!  Where's  the  fellow 
with  it,  Master  Jimmy?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Jimmy  truthfully.  "  I 
thought  I'd  better  hold  on  to  it  until  somebody  came. 
You  might  tell  some  of  the  men  to  pome  and  fetch  it, 
if  you're  passing  the  stables." 

"Where's  it  to  go?" 

"  On  the  stage,"  said  Jimmy,  at  random. 

"  I'll  tell  'em,"  said  Mr.  Ropes.  "  And  I'd  best  stop 
and  see  'em  carry  it  through  behind.  It  makes  'em 
a  bit  more  careful." 

"  Do,"  said  Jimmy ;  and,  having  watched  Mr.  Ropes 
into  the  stables,  departed.  A  few  minutes  afterwards, 
the  men  who  had  been  fetched  by  Mr.  Ropes  to  deposit 
the  wardrobe  on  the  open  stage  in  the  garden,  having 
fulfilled  that  duty,  also  withdrew. 

Mr.  Faviel,  within  the  wardrobe,  drew  a  deep  breath 
of  relief.  At  last,  after  an  incarceration  of  some  six 
or  seven  hours,  he  knew  where  he  was ;  and  knew  also 
that  for  some  little  time  to  come  no  one  else  probably 
would.  How  Jimmy  had  come  into  possession  of  him, 
or  why,  he  did  not  know.  Up  to  the  time  when  Jimmy 
had  addressed  Mr.  Ropes,  and  he  had  recognized 
Jimmy's  voice,  he  had  had  not  the  most  shadowy  no- 
tion whither  he  was  faring,  or  under  whose  charge. 

He  had  guessed,  indeed,  from  the  eager  way  in 
which  Mr.  Boke  had  purchased  the  furniture  which 
contained  him,  that  the  contents  of  that  furniture  were 
not  unknown  to  the  purchaser.  Therefore,  Mr.  Boke, 
whom,  of  course,  he  had  never  seen,  even  on  the  first 
night  of  his  disappearance,  must  be  one  of  Blenken- 
stein's  agents.  Faviel  tried  to  think  he  recognized  the 
husky  voice,  but,  in  any  case,  there  could  be  little  doubt 
about  the  man's  identity.  Where  he  was  taking  him 


The  Opening  of  the  Wardrobe        165 

to,  was  another  matter.  Faviel  knew  nothing  about 
Hanging  Coppice,  or  its  mill.  He  was  being  driven 
somewhere  by  this  husky-voiced  man,  and  by  another 
from  the  inn.  The  other  from  the  inn  was  not,  Faviel 
gathered  from  the  conversation,  aware  of  the  contents 
of  the  wardrobe;  and  it  had  been  in  Faviel's  mind  to 
try  and  bribe  him  to  let  him  out,  what  time  Mr.  Boke 
quenched  his  thirst  at  the  inn. 

He  had  refrained,  out  of  consideration  that,  if  the 
man  were  nearly  panic-stricken  at  hearing  a  voice  come 
out  of  the  wardrobe  he  supposed  to  be  empty — as  was 
most  likely  to  be  the  case — he  would  rouse  every  one 
within  reach,  and  there  would  be  a  revelation.  Faviel 
did  not  want  a  revelation;  it  was  to  avoid  one  that  he 
had  entered  the  wardrobe.  It  was  in  the  knowledge 
that  he  wanted  to  avoid  one  that  the  man  with  the 
husky  voice  had  bought  the  wardrobe.  No;  sooner 
than  reveal  himself,  Faviel  felt  he  must  go  to  this  mill, 
wherever  it  was. 

He  was  not,  in  spite  of  the  heat  of  the  day,  in  any 
great  danger  of  asphyxiation.  Warm  it  undoubtedly 
was  inside  that  oaken  closet,  but  the  wardrobe,  being 
an  old  one,  had  chinks  in  plenty  to  let  the  air  through. 
And  there  was  space  to  turn  round  in ;  enough  almost 
to  move  about  in.  Faviel  could  see  through  one  crack 
— see  blurred  things,  the  green  of  the  hedges,  the  white 
of  the  road,  the  blue  fleece  of  the  sky — in  a  spas- 
modically comforting  manner.  His  chief  desire  was 
for  a  drink;  and  his  animosity  against  his  unknown 
captor  was  at  its  keenest  when  he  heard  him  enter  the 
inn,  after  giving  directions  to  the  other  man  to  keep 
an  eye  on  the  wardrobe. 

Jimmy's  incursion  into  the  cart  had  been  sheer 
bewilderment.  Faviel  had  not  even  been  aware  that 


1 66       The  Opening  of  the  Wardrobe 

the  pink-faced  man  had  abandoned  his  trust,  so  that 
when  the  cart  started  off  at  a  gallop,  he  supposed 
that  the  journey  was  still  being  continued,  though  he 
wondered  a  good  deal  at  the  change  of  pace.  Later, 
he  realized,  somehow,  that  he  had  lost  one  of  his  con- 
ductors, for  there  was  no  more  conversation  at  all — a 
thing  that  prevented  him  from  knowing  which  of  the 
two  was  still  with  him.  As  the  afternoon  wore  on, 
and  Jimmy  deposited  the  cart  on  the  bank  of  the 
stream,  Faviel  had  his  first  touch  of  genuine  uneasi- 
ness. The  ugly  notion  took  hold  of  him  that  perhaps 
he  was  to  be  abandoned  in  this  solitary  place — for  it 
sounded  solitary,  with  its  noises  of  birds  and  running 
water.  It  would  be  an  easy  enough  thing  to  do.  No 
one  but  the  man  who  bought  him  knew  him  to  be 
inside;  and  that  man,  if  ever  he  were  brought  to  jus- 
tice, could  disclaim  his  knowledge  with  some  show  of 
truth.  If  he  were  abandoned,  everything  depended  on 
whether  he  could  cut  the  cord  that  he  could  see  dimly 
through  the  crack  of  the  swing  door.  He  had  little  to 
do  but  push  the  door  open  then.  He  had  taken  his 
knife  out,  and  ascertained  that  the  handle  could  be 
thrust  far  enough  through  the  crack  to  enable  the 
blade  to  cleave  the  rope,  when  Jimmy's  whistling, 
mostly  out  of  tune — which  was  Jimmy's  method  of 
self -communing — advised  him  that  he  was  not  aban- 
doned, as  he  had  by  this  time  begun  to  hope. 

He  half  thought  of  parleying  with  the  whistler,  but 
again  the  fear  of  revealing  himself  to  some  one  not 
aware  of  his  presence  stopped  him;  and  he  relapsed 
into  his  squatting  posture  to  await  the  development  of 
events.  He  knew  now  that  he  could  get  out  if  left  to 
himself,  and  of  that  there  seemed  to  be  more  than  a 
chance.  He  also  vowed  that  somehow  or  other  he 


The  Opening  of  the  Wardrobe        167 

would  get  out,  since,  capture  or  no  capture,  he  had 
arranged  to  meet  Judith  on  Sunday  afternoon. 

Still,  a  thirst  that  had  become  almost  anguish  must 
have  made  him  try  some  quick  means  of  escape,  had 
Jimmy's  journey  taken  longer;  and,  no  sooner  had  the 
steps  of  the  men  who  had  borne  him  on  to  the  stage 
died  away,  than  his  knife  was  out  and  he  was  sawing 
away  at  the  rope.  He  had  got  through  one  round  of  it 
and  began  on  the  second  when  the  sound  of  more  steps 
approaching  warned  him  to  cease  operations.  Then 
followed  the  tones  of  a  familiar  voice: 

"  It  is  a  very  singular  thing,"  Lady  Mallendon  was 
saying,  "  that  girls  will  be  girls — very  singular  and 
trying.  I  remember  how  greatly  tried  Sir  Jasper  was 
by  my  behavior  when  I  was  a  girl  myself.  Contrari- 
ness— it  was  nothing  more.  He  arranged  for  instance 
once,  shortly  after  we  were  engaged,  to  take  me  upon 
the  river  in  a  canoe.  The  day  came — a  lovely  day — 
'  glorious  boating  weather/  Sir  Jasper  called  it,  if  my 
memory  serves  me.  Yet,  you  would  scarcely  believe 
it,  but  nothing — positively  nothing  would  induce  me  to 
get  into  the  canoe.  Sir  Jasper,  always  good-humored, 
almost  lost  his  temper — he  was  in  a  white  duck  suit — 
and  I  do  not  wonder  at  it." 

"  You  think,  then,  that  it  doesn't  mean  anything 
particular?  "  said  Blenkenstein,  in  a  discontented  voice. 

"  Girlishness — mere  girlishness,"  said  Lady  Mallen- 
don reassuringly.  "  A  girl — a  pearl — ah — is  it  one  of 
Herrick's  charming  lines  ?  " 

"  Don't  know,"  said  Blenkenstein.  "  I  don't  go  in 
for  poetry,  you  know,  Lady  Mallendon.  I  suppose 
I'm  too  much  what's  called  a  business  man.  I  dare 
say  I  don't  understand  it.  But  anyway,  I  don't  under- 
stand Judith.  The  arrangement  was " 


1 68        The  Opening  of  the  Wardrobe 

"  Ah,  you  Efficients,"  interrupted  Lady  Mallendon 
archly.  "  The  arrangement !  But  can  youthful  affec- 
tions be  bound  by  arrangements?  They  stray — it  is 
their  nature;  they  waver.  You  must  try  and  see  the 
charm  of  that,  Mr.  Blenkenstein." 

"  It's  charming  enough,"  said  Blenkenstein  sulkily. 
"  I  wouldn't  mind  seeing  it  in  another  girl." 

"  But  you  don't  care  for  it  in  Judith  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  In  that  case,"  said  Lady  Mallendon,  with  a  gentle 
hauteur,  "  perhaps  it  would  be  better  if  what  you  call 
the  arrangement  was  given  up." 

The  change  of  tone  startled  Blenkenstein  as  much 
as  it  rejoiced  Faviel  in  his  wardrobe.  The  latter  knew 
that  Lady  Mallendon,  in  pursuance  of  a  pet  idea, 
would  go  a  good  deal  further  than  was  wise;  but  he 
also  knew  what  Blenkenstein  did  not,  namely,  that  if 
her  plans  did  not  go  smoothly  nobody  was  more  likely 
than  Lady  Mallendon  to  give  them  up  entirely  and 
start  on  a  new  tack.  Blenkenstein,  mercenary  himself, 
imagined  that  Lady  Mallendon  was  bent  on  the  match 
mainly  from  the  point  of  view  of  its  financial  advan- 
tages. People  had  assured  him  that  he  was  a  catch, 
and  he  was  disposed  to  believe  it  himself,  and  to 
believe  that  Lady  Mallendon  had  more  than  an  inkling 
of  it.  He  would  have  been  astonished  to  learn  that 
it  was  only  as  the  ideal  financier  that  he  was  fan- 
cied. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  he  said  quickly. 

"  I  mean  that  of  course,  if  you  are  dissatisfied,  the 
idea  must  be  given  up,"  said  Lady  Mallendon.  "  Two 
uncertain  people  should  never  marry;  and,  indeed,  I 
am  not  sure  that  it  would  be  for  the  best  for  you  and 
Judith  to  marry  in  any  case — of  course  I  would  not 


The  Opening  of  the  Wardrobe        169 

press  Judith  for  a  moment,  and  I  am  sure  you  would 
not." 

"  But — but,"  began  Blenkenstein,  seriously  upset, 
"  you  don't  mean  it?  " 

Lady  Mallendon  flowed  on : 

"  An  honest  attempt  to  understand  one  another's 
feelings,  to  find  out  if  two  people's  sympathies  flow 
together  in  the  highest  channels,  is  an  experience  that 
cannot  be  wholly  wasted." 

"  But  I  cannot  give  her  up,"  said  Blenkenstein 
hoarsely. 

Lady  Mallendon  seemed  a  little  astonished. 

"  Oh,  well,  of  course,"  she  said  graciously,  "  that 
is  different.  I  understood — but  perhaps  it  has  gone 
further  with  you  than  I  thought.  Possibly  it  has  with 
Judith.  I  do  not  know.  Would  it  not  be  wise  in  that 
case  to  test  her  again  ?  " 

"  You  mean  ask  her  if  she  will?  " 

"  Yes." 

"You  haven't  really  any  objection?" 

"  Oh,  not  in  the  least,"  said  Lady  Mallendon.  "  I 
had  quite  set  my  heart  on  it.  Sir  Jasper,  I  know, 
would  be  pleased.  He  is  not  demonstrative  where  his 
sentiments  are  concerned,  but  he  is  devoted  to  Judith. 
Still,  if  you  think " 

"  I  think  I'll  take  your  advice,"  said  Blenkenstein, 
"  and  ask  her  again." 

"  It  was  a  pity,"  said  Lady  Mallendon  reflectively, 
"  that  that  Miss  Faviel  should  have  turned  up  so  in- 
opportunely the  other  day,  because  Judith — well,  it  is 
no  good  thinking  of  that.  I  do  not  suppose  Mr.  Faviel 
will  ever  be  heard  of  again.  It  is  no  doubt  the  last 
flicker  of  the  candle,  poor  young  man." 

They  had  begun  to  move  away,  and  Blenkenstein's 


170        The  Opening  of  the  Wardrobe 

comment  was  lost.  If  he  could  have  known  that  the 
poor  young  man  was  within  a  few  paces  of  him,  eaves- 
dropping, his  comment  might  have  been  a  strong  one. 

Faviel  waited  a  few  minutes  more,  listening  in- 
tently, and  then  cut  the  last  strands  of  the  rope.  He 
had  only  to  turn  back  the  catch  to  get  out.  A  sweet, 
cool  smell  of  myrtle  from  the  shrubbery  at  the  back 
of  the  lawn  greeted  him  as  he  stepped  on  to  the  stage. 
Facing  him  was  the  house,  its  lights  gleaming  softly. 
Somewhere  inside  was  Judith.  Was  Blenkenstein  ask- 
ing her  again  ?  For  a  moment  Faviel  was  tempted  by 
the  idea  of  creeping  up  to  the  house,  and  rinding  her 
out  somehow  or  other,  and  asking  her  himself.  But 
the  risks  were  too  obvious.  Already  he  could  discern 
figures  on  the  lawn :  they  might  come  nearer  and  dis- 
cover him.  He  had  explored  the  garden  only  last 
night,  and  it  was  not  without  some  knowledge  of  his 
whereabouts  that  he  slipped  off  the  back  of  the  stage 
and  plunged  into  the  shrubbery.  It  was  so  dark  in 
parts  that  he  missed  the  path  he  thought  he  was  on, 
and  almost  ran  into  two  people  who  were  strolling 
ahead  of  him;  whereupon  he  dived  into  the  thickness 
of  the  laurels. 

The  noise  he  made  had  not  passed  unnoticed. 

"What's  that?"  he  heard  a  feminine  voice  inquire 
tremulously. 

It  was  Miss  Finch  who  spoke,  and  she  addressed 
herself  to  Mr.  Wormy er,  who  had  accepted  an  invita- 
tion to  stop  and  dine. 

"  Could  it  be  a  rabbit?  "  said  Mr.  Wormyer.  His 
thoughts,  due  to  Jimmy's  insinuation,  were  big  and 
perplexing  ones,  full  of  a  queer  delight. 

"  It  sounded  like  a  man,"  said  Miss  Finch.  "  A — a 
burglar." 


The  Opening  of  the  Wardrobe        171 

"  Don't  be  alarmed !  "  said  Mr.  Wormyer  manfully. 
"  I'll  challenge  him  " — and  he  proceeded  to  cry,  in  his 
somewhat  thin  voice:  "If  any  one  is  in  the  bushes,  I 
must  ask  him  to  come  out.  He  is  frightening  a  lady." 

Nobody  responding — for  Faviel  was  making  his 
way  as  fast  as  possible  in  the  other  direction — Mr. 
Wormyer  again  implored  Miss  Finch  not  to  be 
alarmed. 

"  I  don't  think  I  am,"  said  Miss  Finch  shyly,  "  with 
a  man  to  protect  me." 

Mr.  Wormyer's  heart  beat  high.  Could  this,  he 
asked  himself,  be  love?  He  felt  as  though,  single- 
handed,  he  was  willing  to  dispose  of  a  tiger. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

SOME  LIGHTS   ON   A  SLEUTH-HOUND 

ON  Saturday  afternoon,  going  towards  Langston 
Bucket,  on  the  Waybury  road,  a  motor-car  rqight 
have  been  seen — and,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  attracted 
some  notice.  It  contained  a  lady,  two  men,  and  a 
small  fat  dog.  The  driver  of  the  car  was  Mr.  Wilton, 
and  the  lady  beside  him  was  Miss  Faviel,  while  on  the 
back  seat  of  the  car  sat  Monarch  and  Mr.  Bigstock. 
The  comparative  disguise  of  plain  clothes  in  no  way 
modified  the  policeman-like  austerity  of  Mr.  Bigstock's 
features,  which  were,  indeed,  compressed  into  rather 
a  more  severe  mold  than  usual,  from  a  consciousness 
of  the  responsibility  that  rested  upon  him,  mingled 
with  a  fear  that  he  should  betray  some  symptoms  of 
supposing  that  Monarch  was  capable  of  snapping  at 
him. 

Mr.  Bigstock  had  protested  against  Monarch's  pres- 
ence on  the  car  as  being  unnecessary,  and  Monarch's 
similar  protest  ma>y  have  been  delivered  on  the  same 
grounds.  Tod  Wilton  had  had  some  difficulty  in  con- 
ciliating both  parties;  but  once  they  were  started,  the 
pleasant  speed  and  refreshing  wind  had  quelled  the 
mutual  antagonism,  and  Monarch  and  Mr.  Bigstock 
sat  together  on  the  hind  seat,  rolling  their  eyes  and 
revolving  their  thoughts  in  peace. 

The  objective  of  the  expedition  was  the  Langston 
Bucket  rectory,  and  to  Mr.  Bigstock  the  credit  of 
fixing  upon  this  point  was  due.  When  the  search  for 


Some  Lights  on  a  Sleuth-Hound       173 

Miss  Faviel's  supposed  nephew  in  the  "  Sow  and  Pigs  " 
had  proved  ineffective,  and  a  further  reconnaissance  of 
the  High  Street  and  its  public-houses  had  met  with  no 
success,  Mr.  Bigstock  had  been  disposed  to  regard 
Miss  Faviel's  statement  as  the  result  of  a  hallucination. 
He  even  tried  to  convince  the  lady,  not  only  that  the 
groom  she  had  seen  was  not  her  nephew,  but  that  she 
had  not  even  seen  any  groom.  Miss  Faviel  had  coun- 
tered this  proposition  by  inviting  Mr.  Bigstock  to  gain 
information  as  to  whether  a  groom  in  a  dogcart  had 
or  had  not  been  seen  in  Waybury  at  the  time  she 
named.  It  turned  out  that  a  groom  and  a  dogcart  had 
been  seen,  and  that  moreover  the  horse  attached  to 
the  dogcart  had,  as  Miss  Faviel  averred,  run  away,  but 
whether  with  the  groom  still  in  it  or  not  there  was  no 
saying  for  certain,  as  opinions  differed.  Some  people 
said  that  the  groom,  with  a  pale  face,  was  seen  tugging 
at  the  reins;  one  man  (a  tramp)  even  contended  that 
as  the  cart  flashed  past  him,  the  groom  had  cried  out, 
"  Tell  'em  I've  done  me  best,  and  no  man  can  do 
more."  As  the  tramp  wanted  remuneration  for  this 
item  of  intelligence,  it  was  very  properly  discredited. 
The  theory  gained  ground  that  the  groom  had  got  out, 
and  actually  been  in  Mr.  Green's  shop,  as  Mr.  Green 
had  said. 

With  this  clue  to  guide  him,  Mr.  Bigstock  had,  in 
a  moment  of  inspiration,  asked  whether  anybody  could 
say  whose  the  trap  was.  Lots  of  people  could  say 
that  it  was  a  clergyman's,  and  several  people  that  it 
was  Mr.  Warley's,  of  Langston  Bucket.  The  infer- 
ence was  that  the  groom  was  also  Mr.  Warley's,  of 
Langston  Bucket.  It  was  rumored  that  Mr.  Warley 
had  recovered  his  trap  some  miles  out  of  Waybury, 
and  it  seemed  possible  that  he  had  also  recovered  his 


174      Some  Lights  on  a  Sleuth-Hound 

groom.  Such  at  least  was  Mr.  Bigstock's  opinion,  and 
he  proposed  to  Miss  Faviel  that  together  they  should 
descend  on  Langston  Bucket  next  day.  There  was 
nothing  in  the  way  of  a  horse  to  carry  them  there  the 
same  evening,  but  Mr.  Bigstock  thought  he  could  get 
hold  of  a  "  shay  "  on  Saturday. 

Miss  Faviel  had  suggested  that  she  should  telegraph 
for  a  friend  of  hers,  who  was  stopping  at  a  village  not 
so  very  far  distant — with  a  motor-car — to  come  over 
and  drive  herself  and  Mr.  Bigstock  to  the  appointed 
place.  Mr.  Bigstock  had  assented  to  the  plan. 

Hence  the  quartette  in  the  motor-car  on  the  way  to 
Langston  Bucket. 

Could  their  thoughts  have  been  analyzed  by  the 
people  who  saw  them,  those  thoughts  would  have  been 
discovered  to  be  as  diverse  as  the  thinkers.  Mon- 
arch's were  dog's  thoughts,  not  translatable  into  words. 
Mr.  Bigstock  moved  hazily  in  a  maze  of  detective 
reminiscences,  mostly  drawn  from  penny  novels.  In 
practice  he  had  never  had  any  detective  work  to  do, 
and  he  did  not  somehow  at  the  present  moment  feel 
more  than  superficially  like  a  sleuth-hound  on  the 
track.  He  was  convinced,  for  some  reason  best  known 
to  himself,  that  the  groom  was  not  Miss  Faviel's 
nephew,  and  he  felt  rather  injured  in  consequence. 
He  would  have  liked  to  grapple  with  a  problem  which 
would  tax  the  wits  of  the  smartest  man  in  Scotland 
Yard,  and  he  said  to  himself  that  he  could  have  done 
so,  if  the  problem  were  put  before  him.  But  it  was 
not.  He  intended  to  browbeat  the  groom  pretty  se- 
verely when  he  did  see  him,  and  show  him  plainly  that 
he  couldn't  try  and  make  people  think  he  was  Miss 
Faviel's  nephew  without  drawing  down  on  himself  the 
watchful  eye  of  the  law. 


Some  Lights  on  a  Sleuth-Hound       175 

Miss  Faviel  mingled  wonder  as  to  what  her  nephew 
Richard  could  be  doing  with  a  sort  of  humorous  indig- 
nation at  Mr.  Bigstock's  formidable  obtuseness.  She 
had  put  herself  into  Mr.  Bigstock's  clumsy  hands,  and 
everything  seemed  to  be  slipping  away  from  her  in 
consequence.  But  surely  something  could  be  learned 
about  Richard  from  this  clergyman,  if  he  really  was 
the  clergyman  whose  livery  Richard  was  wearing  yes- 
terday. She  had  no  hope  of  seeing  the  groom  still  in 
his  situation.  Mr.  Wilton  also  had  no  hope  of  seeing 
him  there;  or  rather,  it  should  be  said,  that  he  had 
the  hope  of  not  seeing  him  there.  He  trusted  that 
Dick  had  got  safely  away,  though  how  he  had  man- 
aged it,  if  he  had  done  so,  there  was  no  guessing. 
Still,  not  knowing  anything  of  Mr.  Boke's  watchful- 
ness or  of  the  affair  of  the  wardrobe,  he  was  not 
greatly  concerned  about  his  friend.  He  expected  that 
somehow  or  other  Dick  would  contrive  to  effect  the 
meeting  between  Miss  Mallendon  and  himself,  which, 
when  Tod  had  last  seen  him  on  this  very  road  two 
days  ago,  had  seemed  to  both  of  them  the  best  plan 
for  putting  a  spoke  in  Blenkenstein's  wheel. 

It  was  the  memory  of  the  minutes  shortly  before 
he  had  discovered  Faviel  that  mostly  concerned  Mr. 
Wilton.  He  was  on  his  way  to  the  rectory  again  to 
see  the  maiden  with  the  blue  eyes,  whom  he  had  so 
nearly  and  brutally  run  over. 

What,  Mr.  Wilton  wondered,  did  she  think  of  him? 
The  question  had  been  in  his  mind  for  the  past  forty- 
eight  hours,  and  partly  accounted  for  his  being  in  the 
car  in  company  with  Miss  Faviel  and  the  police  con- 
stable at  the  present  moment. 

His  intention  had  been  to  return  to  town,  and  during 
the  brief  delirious  moments  in  which  he  had  apologized 


176      Some  Lights  on  a  Sleuth-Hound 

to  Mr.  Warley  for  having  almost  killed  his  daughter, 
and  had  accepted  a  cup  of  tea  from  the  hospitable 
hands  of  Mrs.  Warley,  he  had  unfortunately  let  out 
that  intention.  The  unfortunate  nature  of  this  con- 
fession only  struck  him  when  he  had  left  the  rectory 
and  was  on  his  way  to  the  rendezvous  with  Faviel. 
For  it  came  over  Mr.  Wilton  that,  having  represented 
himself  as  a  passing  motorist  from  London,  he  could 
hardly  avoid  raising  suspicions  if  he  proceeded  to  do 
what  seemed  to  him  now  a  much  pleasanter  thing. 
This  was  to  put  up  at  an  inn  for  a  day  or  two,  so 
as  to  be  able  to  call  at  the  rectory  again  and  inquire 
how  Miss  Warley  was  after  the  shock.  It  seemed  to 
Tod  that  to  call  was  the  only  polite  thing  to  do,  the 
sort  of  thing  that  he  ought  to  do;  and  yet,  to  pay 
a  call  from  London,  sixty  miles  distant,  would  cer- 
tainly look  strange.  At  least,  would  it  ?  The  opinion 
of  a  woman  of  the  world  upon  this  delicate  point  of 
etiquette  would  have  been  infinitely  welcome  to  the 
conscientious  lieutenant.  He  thought  of  asking  Fa- 
viel's  advice,  but  unselfishly  refrained,  since  Faviel  had 
already  enough  to  think  of. 

In  the  end,  a  bright  thought  occurred  to  Mr.  Wilton. 
Why  should  his  car  not  break  down  and  compel  him 
to  put  up  in  the  neighborhood?  Cars  often  do  break 
down,  and  if  he  represented  such  an  accident  to  have 
occurred  when  he  called  at  the  rectory,  nobody  would 
think  his  conduct  peculiar.  He  would,  it  is  true,  lose 
the  credit  of  seeming  to  call  just  for  the  sake  of  in- 
quiring, but  he  would  be  able  to  call,  which  was  the 
chief  thing. 

The  thought  seemed  bright  at  the  moment  of  its 
occurrence,  but  after  Mr.  Wilton  had  put  up  at  an  inn 
a  few  miles  nearer  London  on  the  Langston  Bucket 


Some  Lights  on  a  Sleuth-Hound       177 

road,  all  the  old  doubts  and  several  new  ones  cropped 
up  again.  He  thought  it  would  be  deemed  officious 
if  he  called  the  next  day,  as  though  he  wanted  to 
force  his  acquaintance  on  them.  And  if  he  called,  and 
they  were  out,  he  would  have  lost  the  opportunity  of 
seeing  them  again.  He  could  not  go  on  calling.  So 
Tod  spent  Friday,  lounging  about  the  village,  to  keep 
up  the  idea  that  there  was  something  the  matter  with 
the  car,  and  saying  to  himself  that  he  had  now  lost 
the  one  opportunity  of  being  ordinarily  polite  that 
was  offered  to  him,  since,  if  he  called  later  on,  they 
would  assume  that  he  could  not  have  been  particularly 
interested  in  Miss  Warley's  welfare,  or  he  would  have 
inquired  sooner. 

He  had  sent  off  a  letter  to  Miss  Faviel,  acquainting 
her  with  his  change  of  plans  (but  not  with  the  reason 
of  them:  he  said  the  country  was  so  charming 
that  he  had  been  tempted  to  stop  and  explore  a  lit- 
tle), in  case  he  could  be  of  any  further  use  to  that 
lady. 

Her  telegram,  reaching  him  about  five  o'clock  on 
Friday,  was  a  godsend,  and  sent  Mr.  Wilton  into  the 
seventh  heaven  until  he  thought  it  over,  when  he  in- 
stantly perceived  a  large  number  of  objections  to  the 
proposal  it  contained  that  he  should  accompany  her 
to  the  rectory  on  the  following  day.  For  example,  he 
could  not  in  that  case  for  a  moment  pretend  that  he 
had  come  to  inquire  after  Miss  Etta's  state  of  well- 
being.  It  might  be  revealed  to  Miss  Faviel  that  he 
had  seen  the  pseudo-Higginson.  The  policeman's 
trained  eye  might  observe  his  hesitations  and  contra- 
dictions, and  discover  his  guilty  acquaintance  with  Fa- 
viel's  movements. 

Mr.  Bigstock's  portentous  but  obviously  self-corn- 


178      Some  Lights  on  a  Sleuth-Hound 

posing  powers  of  thought  relieved  him  of  this  last 
apprehension,  though  others  still  weighed  upon  him, 
when,  turning  slowly  on  his  seat  so  as  not  to  arouse 
Monarch's  animosity,  Mr.  Bigstock  announced,  as  they 
entered  the  village  of  Langston  Bucket — 

"  First  turn  on  the  right,  sir.  And  a  few  yards 
on.  A  white  gate.  There's  likely  to  be  fowls 
about " 

"  Right !  "  said  Mr.  Wilton,  who  had  already  begun 
to  turn. 

"  You  seem  to  know  it,"  said  Miss  Faviel. 

"  Why,"  said  Mr.  Wilton,  with  a  slyness  that  sur- 
prised himself,  "  this  is  the  same  rectory  as  the  one 
I  called  at  on  Thursday.  I  didn't  tell  you  of  the 
accident  I  had,  did  I  ?  "  He  related  it  in  a  few  words, 
as  they  went  up  the  drive,  and  Miss  Faviel  was  in  the 
act  of  saying,  "  But  then  you  must  almost  have  seen 
Richard,"  when  Etta  appeared  at  the  porch. 

"  Mr.  Wilton !  "  she  said,  with  a  delightful  blush  of 
surprise. 

"  I  hope "  Tod  began.  But  Mr.  Bigstock  saw 

his  opportunity  and  availed  himself  of  it.  He  had 
removed  himself  with  unexpected  celerity  from  his 
place  beside  Monarch,  and  recovered  all  his  wonted 
dignity. 

"  Excuse  me,  sir,"  he  said,  holding  up  his  hand, 
as  though  to  stop  any  traffic  there  might  be  in  the 
neighborhood.  "  The  conduc'  of  this  case  having  bin 
put  in  my  hands  I  must  ask  you  to  excuse  me.  Now, 
miss,"  he  wheeled  round  upon  Etta,  "  don't  be  fright- 
ened. But  as  a  matter  of  lor,  miss,  is  Mr.  Warley, 
rector  an'  parish  priest,  inside  this  here  rect'ry  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Etta,  slightly  alarmed,  in  spite  of  Mr. 
Bigstock's  admonition. 


Some  Lights  on  a  Sleuth-Hound       179 

"  It's  only,  my  dear,"  said  Miss  Faviel,  "  some 
questions  about  my " 

Mr.  Bigstock  put  up  his  hand  at  Miss  Faviel. 

"  I  must  ask  you,  ma'am,  to  observe  se-creesy  in 
the  first  instance.  For  all  you  know,  and  for  all  I 
know,  the  prisoner,  I  should  say  the  gentleman,  may 
be  a-listening  to  your  words  at  this  very  mo- 
ment. The  young  lady,  for  all  you  know,  ma'am, 
may  be  in  the  conspiracy,  if  such  a  conspiracy  there 
be- 

"  But  why,  in  the  name  of  goodness,  man,"  said 
Miss  Faviel  fractiously,  "  should  there  be  a  con- 
spiracy ?  If  you  would  ask  this  young  lady  first  of  all 
if  you  may  see  her  father,  and  secondly,  if " 

"  A-zackly !  "  said  Mr.  Bigstock.  "  We  are  a-com- 
ing  to  that,  ma'am,  if  you  will  allow  me  to  say  so. 
But  the  conduc'  of  this  case  being,  as  I  have  afore 
mentioned,  in  my  hands,  I  shall  first  of  all  ask  this 
young  woman,  or  lady  aforesaid,  where  Mr.  Warley, 
rector,  may  be  found  and  lighted  upon " 

"  In  the  library,  I  think,"  said  Etta  with  some 
uneasiness. 

"  Then,"  said  Mr.  Bigstock,  "  in  the  name  of  the 
lor " 

"  Tut !  "  broke  in  Miss  Faviel.  "  My  dear,  what  we 
want  to  know  is  if  your  father  will  allow  us  to  speak 
to  him  for  a  few  minutes " 

"  Pray  come  in,"  said  Etta,  adding  to  Mr.  Wilton, 
"  I'm  sorry  to  say  our  man  has  disappeared,  but  if 
your  car  is  all  right  by  itself ?  " 

Mr.  Wilton  nodded,  and  assisted  Miss  Faviel  down. 
Etta  headed  a  procession,  of  which  Mr.  Bigstock  com- 
posed the  solemn  rear,  to  Mr.  Warley's  library,  and 
opened  the  door. 


180      Some  Lights  on  a  Sleuth-Hound 

"  I  don't  know  but  what  it  wouldn't  be  safer  if 
summun  kept  an  eye  outside,"  whispered  Mr.  Bigstock 
to  Mr.  Wilton,  as  they  were  about  to  enter. 

"  I'll  do  it,  if  you  like,"  said  Tod,  and  walked  back 
again  to  the  porch. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

ETTA   MAKES   A   DISCOVERY 

Miss  FAVIEL'S  ill-concealed  impatience,  combined 
with  Mr.  Warley's  somewhat  patronizing  way  of  re- 
ferring to  him  as  "  Constable,"  prevented  Mr.  Big- 
stock  from  developing  the  investigation  on  the  strict 
and  awe-inspiring  lines  which  he  had  contemplated. 
The  discussion,  indeed,  became  more  or  less  a  con- 
versation between  Miss  Faviel  and  the  rector — a  con- 
versation in  which  Mr.  Bigstock's  pertinent  queries 
were  treated  with  scant  respect. 

Mr.  Warley  was  genuinely  interested  in  his  late 
groom's  case. 

"  I  never  read  the  information  you  say  was  in  the 
papers  about  his  disappearance  in  the  first  instance,  or 
I  might  have  connected  Higginson — Mr.  Faviel,  as  I 
ought  to  call  him — with  it.  As  it  happened,  I  took 
him  on  trust,  and,  if  you'll  allow  me  to  say  so,  a  better 
groom  I  never  wish  to  have." 

"  Richard,"  said  Miss  Faviel  regretfully,  "  always 
was  reliable." 

"  You  consider,  then,"  said  Mr.  Bigstock,  "  that  the 
young  man  was  this  lady's  nephew  ?  " 

"  Well,  Miss  Faviel  says  she  recognized  him,"  said 
Mr.  Warley.  "  I  see  no  reason  against  it,  do  you  ?  " 

"Where  did  he  git,  then?"  said  Mr.  Bigstock 
doggedly.  "If  he  was  the  gentleman,  where  did  he 
git?" 

xlt 


1 82  Etta  Makes  a  Discovery 

"  That,  I  imagine,"  said  Mr.  Warley  dryly,  "  is  what 
you  have  to  find  out,"  and  Mr.  Bigstock  collapsed. 

"  Of  course,"  Mr.  Warley  resumed,  "  my  knowledge 
of  him  terminates  just  where  yours  begins.  From 
the  time  he  entered  the  shop " 

"  As  I  was  certain  he  did,"  said  Miss  Faviel. 

"  Arterwards  being  traced  to  the  '  Sow  an'  Pigs,' ' 
said  Mr.  Bigstock  feebly. 

"  Very  doubtfully  traced,"  Miss  Faviel  added. 

"  I  saw  nothing  whatever  of  him.  The  horse  had 
run  away,  and  like  a  good  many  other  people,  I  ran 
after  it.  My  assumption  was  that  Higginson  would 
do  the  same.  The  horse  was  stopped  about  two  miles 
out  of  Waybury.  Luckily  there  was  no  damage  done 
to  any  one,  and  the  horse  itself  had  only  strained  one 
of  his  legs.  I  thought  the  best  thing  to  be  done  was 
to  leave  him  at  the  inn  there,  where,  as  a  matter  of 
fact,  he  still  is.  After  that  I  walked  home,  having 
first  ascertained  that  Higginson  had  not  come  up.  I 
must  confess  I  was  considerably  annoyed  with  him  for 
having  left  the  horse  like  that,  which  your  explanation, 
Miss  Faviel,  of  course  makes  a  good  deal  clearer. 
Still,  I  was  not  dreaming  of  dismissing  him,  or  any- 
thing of  that  sort.  I  still  thought  he  would  turn  up, 
a  little  ashamed  of  himself,  perhaps,  but  I  was  begin- 
ning to  lose  hope  of  it  when  you  arrived " 

"  Then  it's  to  be  taken,  is  it,"  asked  Mr.  Bigstock, 
with  a  show  of  prudent  doubting,  "  that  he  ain't  on 
the  premises  ?  " 

"  Obviously,"  said  Miss  Faviel.  "  Do  you  doubt 
Mr.  Warley's  word ?  " 

"  He  might  'a'  crept  back — to  die,"  said  Mr.  Big- 
stock,  with  a  faint  recollection  of  some  incident  he  had 
heard  of  somewhere. 


Etta  Makes  a  Discovery  183 

"  Well,"  said  Mr.  Warley,  smiling,  "  you're  quite 
welcome,  constable,  to  examine  the  premises  if  you 
like." 

"  Thanky,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Bigstock.  "  Chimbleys 
have  hid  things  afore  now." 

"  So  I  believe,"  said  Mr.  Warley.  "  I'll  ring  for  the 
housemaid,  and  ask  her  to  let  you  see  them  all,  and 
after  that  you  could  have  a  glass  of  beer,  perhaps,  in 
the  kitchen." 

"  Thanky,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Bigstock  again.  "  None  o' 
the  maids,  I  suppose,  couldn't  a  bin  in  league  with  the 
gentleman  ?  " 

"What  sort  of  league?" 

"  Conspiring  agen  the  King's  peace,"  said  Mr.  Big- 
stock,  in  a  general  way. 

"  I  hardly  think  so.  But  you'd  better  ask  them 
yourself,"  said  Mr.  Warley.  "  Here's  Mary.  Mary, 
this  is  the  Waybury  police-constable,  and  he  wants  to 
be  shown  the  chimneys,  if  you'll  be  good  enough  to 
point  them  out,  and  afterwards  get  him  a  glass  of 
beer." 

"  Thanky,"  said  Mr.  Bigstock,  and  followed  the 
beaming  housemaid  with  unreluctant  steps. 

"  I  thought,"  said  Mr.  Warley  apologetically,  "  that 
perhaps  we  should  get  on  more  quickly  if  your  Sher- 
lock Holmes  retired.  I  am  sure  there  are  lots  of 
questions  you  would  like  to  ask  about  your  nephew, 
and  we  should  be  delighted  to  answer.  Etta,  there's 
your  mother  just  coming  back.  Ask  her  to  come  in 
and  help  us." 

"  And  Mr.  Wilton?  "  said  Etta. 

"  Oh,  yes,  pray  bring  him  in,"  said  Mr.  Warley. 
"  What  a  curious  coincidence  that  he  should  be  a  great 
friend  of  Higginson's — Mr.  Faviel's,  I  mean — and 


184  Etta  Makes  a  Discovery 

only  a  day  or  two  ago  should  have  brought  Etta  in 
from  a  fall.  Why,  bless  my  soul,  that  was  on  Thurs- 
day, Etta,  wasn't  it?  He  might  very  well  have  dis- 
covered his  friend  and  saved  you  all  this  worry,  Miss 
Faviel.  What  a  complicated  business!  A  very  nice 
young  man  Mr.  Wilton  seemed  to  be — for  a  motorist." 

"  He  is,"  said  Miss  Faviel. 

Etta  sent  her  mother  bustling  in — not  quite  certain 
whether  Higginson  had  turned  out  to  be  a  burglar  or 
an  angel — easily  enough.  But  when  she  approached 
Mr.  Wilton  with  the  request  that  he  also  should  enter, 
there  seemed  to  be  a  disinclination  on  that  gentleman's 
part.  He  did  not  actually  say  so,  but  fussed  round 
the  car,  busying  himself  with  several  little  things,  and 
talking  rapidly  the  while. 

"  It's  the  worst  of  a  hired  car.  Everything  goes 
wrong." 

"  Is  it  the  same  one  ?  "  Etta  asked.  She  had  on 
a  floppy  garden  hat,  and  looked  charming  as  she 
stroked  Monarch,  still  lolling  on  the  back  seat. 

Mr.  Wilton  nodded. 

"  I'd  like  to  smash  it  to  bits,"  he  said.  "  And  you, 
are  you  really  all  right  again  ?  " 

"  Why,  of  course,"  said  Etta,  laughing.  "  I  never 
was  wrong,  you  know." 

"  I  meant,"  said  Mr.  Wilton,  "  to  call  yesterday 
and  ask  how  you  were.  I  was  uncommonly  anxious." 

"  I  thought  you  were  going  on  to  London,"  said 
Etta  innocently. 

"  I  was,"  said  Mr.  Wilton,  "  but— I— didn't " 

"  And  now,"  said  Etta,  "  you've  had  to  come  about 
your  friend.  It  does  seem  curious  that  Higginson 
should  really  have  been  a  friend  of  yours  all  the  time." 

"  Doesn't  it  ?  "  Mr.  Wilton  agreed. 


Etta  Makes  a  Discovery  185 

"  And  that  you  shouldn't  have  recognized  him  when 
you  did  see  him." 

Mr.  Wilton  looked  up  guiltily  from  an  inspection  of 
one  of  the  back  tires.  Etta  looked  supremely  innocent. 

"  Ye— yes,"  said  Mr.  Wilton. 

"  I  suppose,  as  my  father  says,  it  would  have  saved 
a  good  deal  of  worry  if  you  had  recognized  him?" 
Etta  was  looking  at  Monarch  as  she  spoke,  but  there 
was  something  in  her  tone  that  warned  Tod  that  pre- 
varication would  not  do. 

"  I  don't  know  that  it  would  have  saved  worry,"  he 
admitted. 

"  Then  you  did  recognize  him  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

Etta's  eyes  sparkled  with  triumph.  She  felt  that 
she,  and  she  alone,  had  known  from  the  first  that 
Higginson  was  no  mere  groom,  and  now,  from  that 
chance  exclamation  that  Mr.  Wilton  had  let  fall  when 
he  drove  her  up  to  the  rectory  two  days  before,  she 
had  inferred  what  neither  her  father  nor  Miss  Faviel, 
nor  that  stupid  policeman  had  even  so  much  as  thought 
of — the  fact,  namely,  that  Mr.  Wilton  was  cognizant 
of  his  friend's  disguise.  She  forgot  that  she  had  given 
up  all  thought  of  Higginson's  being  anything  beyond 
what  he  professed  to  be,  and  she  also  presumed  that 
her  discovery  gave  a  title  to  know  more  than  she  actu- 
ally did  of  this  interesting  and  mysterious  affair.  Mr. 
Wilton's  reply  to  her  next  remark  was  really  annoying. 

"  I  think  I  have  the  right  to  know  exactly  what  it 
all  means,"  said  Etta  arbitrarily. 

"  I'm  awfully  sorry,"  said  Mr.  Wilton,  "  but  I  can't 
tell  you." 

The  insufferable  thing  about  this  answer  was  that 
he  spoke  it  as  if  he  meant  it.  Etta  had  supposed,  from 


1 86  Etta  Makes  a  Discovery 

her  small  experience  of  him,  that  Mr.  Wilton  was  a 
most  amenable  person. 

"Oh!"  she  said  coldly. 

"  I'd  tell  you  if  I  could,"  said  Mr.  Wilton  earnestly, 
"  but  I  haven't  the  right  to." 

"  Pray  don't  trouble  about  it,"  said  Etta,  with  a 
pout. 

"You  don't  mind?" 

"  Why  should  I  ?  "  Etta  asked.  "  The  only  thing  is 
that  I  think  I  ought  to  tell  Miss  Faviel  of  what  I  know 
about  it.  She  is  naturally  interested  in  her  nephew's 
disappearance." 

She  spoke  lightly  and  provokingly,  because  she  had 
been  provoked.  She  had  not  thought  so  often  of  Mr. 
Wilton  (owing  to  rehearsals  and  other  things  that  took 
up  her  attention)  as  she  had  expected  to:  certainly 
much  less  often  than  he  had  thought  of  her.  Absence 
rather  tends  to  weaken  the  impressionable,  since  it 
cannot  confirm  the  impression.  Still,  when  Mr.  Wil- 
ton arrived  again,  she  was  prepared  to  renew  her  previ- 
ous fancies,  in  which,  it  will  be  recalled,  he  figured  as 
a  devoted  knight,  as  devoted  as  Higginson  had  not 
been.  Devoted  knights  do  not  say,  in  response  to  a 
request  that  is  almost  a  command  for  enlightenment, 
what  Mr.  Wilton  was  saying  now. 

"  I  must  ask  you  to  tell  Miss  Faviel  nothing  about 
it." 

"  Why  ?  "  said  Etta  rebelliously. 

"You'll  promise?" 

If  Mr.  Wilton's  other  manner  of  looking  away  at 
his  car  and  stuttering  had  been  his  manner  at  this 
moment,  Etta  would  not  have  begun  to  make  a  prom- 
ise. She  had  right  on  her  side,  and  almost  duty,  and 
maiden's  caprice  and  maiden's  wil fulness.  But  he  was 


Etta  Makes  a  Discovery  187 

looking  at  her  with  level  eyes,  and  his  voice  was  quite 
hard. 

"  Very  well,"  said  Etta,  in  the  meekest  voice,  and, 
without  seeing  the  picture  as  plainly  as  she  generally 
did  see  these  pictures  of  her  fancy,  felt  like  one  of 
those  devoted  maidens,  who,  to  win  the  careless  atten- 
tion of  the  splendid  knight,  put  on  page's  attire,  and 
in  that  humble  guise  follow  him  along  the  rough  road 
of  pilgrimage  and  war. 

Somehow  it  was  a  pleasant  sensation,  and  Mr. 
Wilton,  as  unconscious  as  any  splendid  knight  that  he 
had  caused  it,  added  to  it  by  merely  giving  a  com- 
monplace nod,  as  though  to  say  this  was  what  he  had 
expected,  and  what  he  had  expected  would  of  course 
be  carried  out. 

"  Some  day,"  he  said,  "  I  hope  to  be  able  to  tell  you 
all  about  it,  and  then  you'll  understand  why  I  couldn't 
tell  you  now." 

"  Yes,"  said  Etta. 

"  I  don't  quite  know  when,"  said  Mr.  Wilton.  "  In 
fact,"  he  suddenly  resumed  his  old  apologetic  manner, 
"  I'm  talking  as  if  I  lived  here  and  knew  you  well, 
which  of  course  I  don't." 

"  No,"  said  Etta. 

"  Do  you  think,"  Mr.  Wilton  flushed  quite  red  with 
the  idea  of  the  momentousness  of  the  question,  "  that 
Mr.  Warley — your  father — I  mean  you — all  of  you, 
would  mind  if  I  called  one  day?  " 

"  I  expect  my  father  would  be  delighted,"  said  Etta. 

"  Well,  I  will,"  said  Mr.  Wilton,  with  determina- 
tion. "  I  shall  be  stopping  about  here  for  a  few  days — 
I  expect  so,  at  least — I  really  don't  know,  but  anyhow, 
if  you  don't  mind,  I  can  come  up  from  town.  It's  only 
a  few  minutes — hours,  distant,  isn't  it?" 


1 88  Etta  Makes  a  Discovery 

"  I  suppose  you're  not  going  to  the  garden  party  at 
Lady  Mallendon's  on  Saturday,  are  you  ?  "  Etta  said. 
"  It's  public,  you  know,  for  a  charity.  It  might  be 
worth  seeing." 

"  Will  you  be  there  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Wilton  eagerly. 

"  Yes." 

"  I  certainly  shall,"  said  Tod.  He  had  no  time  to 
say  more,  for  Miss  Faviel,  who  had  gathered  all  possi- 
ble details  from  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Warley  concerning  her 
nephew,  was  coming  out.  Otherwise,  Mr.  Wilton 
might  have  explained  that  he  knew  the  Mallendons, 
and  Etta  might  have  informed  him  that  she  was  acting 
in  the  play,  and  that  the  princess  in  that  drama  was 
a  friend  of  hers,  and  was  indeed  coming  over  to  lunch 
next  day.  Faviel,  in  his  brief  interview  with  Mr. 
Wilton,  had  not  entered  into  particulars,  and  the  inter- 
course between  the  rectory  and  The  Ashlands  was  ac- 
cordingly hidden  from  Tod.  It  is  doubtful,  even  if  he 
had  known  of  it,  whether  he  could  have  done  anything 
in  the  way  of  warning  Etta  not  to  prejudice  Faviel's 
case  with  Miss  Mallendon. 

"  Well,"  Miss  Faviel  was  saying,  as  she  came  out, 
"  I  shall  stay  in  Way  bury  a  few  more  days  to  see  if 
I  can  hear  anything  of  poor  Rictiard.  He  must,  of 
course,  be  off  his  head;  but  at  any  rate  it's  a  relief  to 
know  that  he  did  nothing  very  peculiar  when  he  was 
with  you,  Mrs.  Warley.  It's  very  kind  of  you  to  have 
told  me  what  you  could,  and  to  have  treated  him  as 
you  did." 

"  Not  at  all,  not  in  the  least,"  said  Mr.  Warley. 
"  The  best  groom  I  ever  had.  Not  a  moment's  anxiety 
while  he  was  here.  To  think  that  he  is  a  distinguished 
traveler ! " 


Etta  Makes  a  Discovery  189 

"  Was  he?  "  Etta  whispered  to  Mr.  Wilton,  and  Mr. 
Wilton  nodded. 

"  If  we  can  do  anything  to  assist  you,"  Mr.  Warley 
continued,  "  pray  let  us  know,  and  if  you  should  have 
good  news  I  should  esteem  a  line  a  favor." 

"  I  will  send  one  with  pleasure,"  said  Miss  Faviel. 
"  Quiet,  Monarch.  These  are  friends." 

Monarch  subdued  his  high-pitched  challenge  of  Mr. 
Warley  to  a  grumbling  croak,  calculated  to  assure  him 
that  nothing  would  happen  if  Mr.  Warley  did  not 
presume  further.  He  returned  to  the  more  furious 
yap,  however,  as  Mr.  Bigstock,  with  a  black  smear 
down  the  bridge  of  his  nose  and  watery  eyes,  came 
upon  the  scene. 

"  Well,  constable,"  said  Mr.  Warley,  "  any  dis- 
coveries ?  " 

"  Why,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Bigstock,  "  he  ain't  suttenly 
up  the  chimbleys,  so  fur  as  I  can  see,  without  a  broom 
or  anything  o'  the  kind,  and  argying  from  the  soot, 
there  ain't  been  anybody  up  within  the  las'  three  weeks. 
Some  of  us  might  argy  to  as  much  as  four  weeks,  but 
I  wouldn't  go  not  further  than  three  myself.  There's 
a  lot  o'  soot  accumerlated  in  a  chimbley  in  three 
weeks." 

"  So  it  seems,"  said  Miss  Faviel  unkindly. 

"  The  maids,"  continued  Mr.  Bigstock,  unaware  of 
the  reference,  "  ain't  seen  the  gentleman  later  than 
what  you've  seen  'em  yourself.  O'  course  that  ain't 
argyment,  not  as  we  counts  it.  Why !  they  ain't  trained 
to  see.  No  reflection,  sir,"  added  Mr.  Bigstock  mag- 
nanimously, "  on  your  maids,  which  are  a  tidy  lot,  and 
frank-spoken  as  I  could  wish.  But  scrubbing,  parlor 
dusting,  and  preparing  vittles  for  the  table  do  not  train 
the  eye." 


190  Etta  Makes  a  Discovery 

"  So  you've  got  no  clue  ?  " 

"  Not,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Bigstock  with  dignity,  "  what 
we  would  call  a  clue.  One  or  two  idees  I  may  have 
picked  up,  but  you'll  excuse  me  for  not  a-mentioning 
of  them  in  public  like.  I  may  foller  them  or  I  may 
not.  One  thing  I  would  wish  to  say;  I  ain't  had  the 
time  I  could  ha'  wished,  but  if  you  have  a  tidy-sized 
trunk  anywheres,  under  a  bed  or  wash-hand  stand,  I'd 
look  in  it.  It  ain't  pleasant  to  think  of,  but  bodies 
have  been  found  in  trunks  afore  now." 

"  We'll  examine  the  trunks,"  said  Mr.  Warley. 

"  Shoo,  dog,  shoo !  "  said  Mr.  Bigstock,  clambering 
up  on  to  his  seat  beside  Monarch,  and  stiffening  his 
knees  to  make  them  harder  to  bite. 

"Ready?"  asked  Mr.  Wilton. 

«  Yessir " 

Somewhat  regretfully  Mr.  Wilton  started  his  car 
on  the  return  journey  to  Way  bury.  He  could  not  see 
Miss  Etta  Warley  again  for  a  week. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

THE   TRIUMPH    OF   MR.    BOKE 

JUDITH  drove  herself  over  to  Langston  Bucket  after 
morning  church.  It  is  to  be  feared  that  Mr.  Worm- 
yer's  efforts  in  the  pulpit,  though  they  might  well  have 
called  forth  the  Bishop's  famous  remark  to  Mr.  Bay- 
ford — "  The  diocese  is  not  without  its  preacher,  Bay- 
ford  :  the  diocese  is  not  without  its  preacher  " — were 
entirely  wasted  so  far  as  this  young  lady  was  con- 
cerned. 

Doubt  had  been  the  subject  of  Mr.  Wormy  er's 
sermon.  Doubt — Mr.  Wormyer  said — was  a  vice 
which  had  caused  more  unhappiness  than  any  other. 
A  man  should  be  able  to  make  up  his  mind  once  and 
for  all.  So — Mr.  Wormyer  added — carried  on  the 
flood  of  his  own  eloquence,  should  a  woman.  It  may 
be  that  he  had  in  his  mind's  eye  the  incident  of  the 
shrubbery  on  Friday  night;  it  may  be — though  he  did 
not  glance  that  way — that  he  saw  Miss  Finch  herself, 
looking  pensive  in  a  baby  hat.  Together — Mr.  Worm- 
yer concluded — together  in  one  fixed  faith,  man  and 
woman  might  face  whatever  should  betide  them. 

Mrs.  Baggie,  a  deaf  old  lady  who  had  once  kept  the 
grocer's  shop  at  Hetchingham,  and  was  assiduous  in 
her  attendance  at  church,  said  to  a  friend  at  the  con- 
clusion of  the  service  that  she  "  a'most  wished  she  had 
brought  her  ear  trumpet." 

She  considered  it  wasteful  to  use  that  instrument 
except  on  special  occasions. 

191 


192  The  Triumph  of  Mr.  Boke 

Doubt  had  also  been  the  subject  of  Judith's 
thoughts.  She  did  not  doubt  any  longer  whether  she 
was  going  to  attend  the  tryst  in  the  woods  inside  The 
Ashlands.  She  only  doubted  what  she  should  say  to 
Mr.  Faviel  when  she  saw  him.  The  old  struggle  be- 
tween her  inclinations  and  her  sense  of  what  was  fit — 
between  what  she  felt  that  she  desired,  and  what  she 
thought  that  she  ought  to  desire — had  renewed  itself 
more  violently  than  ever.  Why,  when  her  opinion 
of  Mr.  Blenkenstein  had  not  altered,  should  her  liking 
have  strayed  elsewhere?  Had  she  never  liked  Mr. 
Blenkenstein,  and  never  had  cause  to  think  badly  of 
Mr.  Faviel  ?  She  could  not,  having  a  clear  mind  to  her 
undoing,  answer  "  never  "  to  either  question.  Etta 
would  have  been  able  to.  She  had  the  faculty  of 
regarding  her  latest  mood  as  the  safest  and  most  con- 
stant in  the  world. 

Judith  sat  in  judgment  on  herself  impartially,  no 
matter  how  skilled  an  advocate  the  moment's  emotion 
should  prove.  But  a  judge  can  only  pronounce 
sentence ;  he  cannot  carry  it  out.  In  the  very  teeth  of 
the  verdict,  the  guilty  prisoner  that  is  oneself  goes  on 
its  way,  if  not  rejoicing,  at  least  perilously  expectant 
of  delight. 

Judith  was  bound  for  the  Langston  Bucket  rectory 
precisely  because  it  took  her  away  from  Blenkenstein, 
and  made  the  afternoon's  appointment  more  easy  to 
accomplish.  She  intended  to  send  on  the  groom  with 
the  horse  when  she  should  have  reached  The  Ash- 
lands  lodge  on  her  return  journey;  telling  him  that 
she  would  walk  the  rest  of  the  way. 

Rain  had  fallen  during  church  time,  laying  the  dust 
on  the  road  and  bringing  forth  all  the  sweets  of  the 
meadows  and  hedgerows.  The  air  smelt  of  honey- 


The  Triumph  of  Mr.  Boke  193 

suckle  and  tasted  of  wine.  The  birds  made  it  ring 
again  with  their  redoubled  singing.  Bees  were  hurry- 
ing round  to  see  if  their  workshops,  the  flowers,  were 
dry  enough  for  re-entry.  Judith's  horse  flew  without 
a  flick  of  the  whip.  Only  the  little  groom,  tightly 
cased  in  his  livery,  seemed  impervious  to  the  changed 
beauty  of  the  weather,  and  sat  duty-bound  with  folded 
arms,  as  some  grooms  would  sit  during  an  earth- 
quake. 

Judith  had  a  mind  to  make  him  get  down  and  race 
her,  and  only  refrained  because  when  the  idea  occurred 
to  her  the  white  gate  of  the  rectory  was  already  in 
sight,  and  Etta  with  it. 

"  How  nice  of  you  to  come !  " 

"  Didn't  I  promise  ?  "  said  Judith. 

"  Yes,  but  some  people  don't  keep  their  promises," 
said  Etta.  "  With  all  those  people  in  the  house  I  was 
afraid  you  wouldn't  be  able  to  get  away.  If  I  were 
Mr.  Blenkenstein " 

"  Never  mind  about  him,"  said  Judith  quickly,  and 
Etta  marveled.  Every  one  at  The  Ashlands  seemed  to 
know  and  to  say  that  the  engagement  between  Judith 
and  Mr.  Blenkenstein  was  an  accomplished  thing,  not 
made  public  yet,  merely  because  it  sometimes  pleases 
engaged  couples  not  to  make  their  understanding 
public  immediately,  as  though  it  were  too  big  a  secret 
to  be  intrusted  suddenly  and  entire  to  a  thoughtless 
world.  Etta  supposed  it  was  so.  She  did  not  greatly 
care  for  Mr.  Blenkenstein,  what  she  had  seen  of  him. 
He  could  not  act  at  all.  But  he  was  a  big  fine-looking 
man,  and  very  rich  and  important,  Etta  under- 
stood, so  that  perhaps  his  acting  did  not  very  much 
matter. 

For  Judith,  on  the  other  hand,  Etta  had  conceived 


194          The  Triumph  of  Mr.  Boke 

the  strongest  regard.  She  admired  her  beauty  and  her 
acting,  and  her  princess-like  bearing  which  was  not 
only  that  of  a  stage  princess,  but  of  a  born  one,  and 
made  Etta  feel  rather  a  country  maid,  with  a  com- 
plete whole-heartedness,  which  she  made  no  effort  to 
conceal. 

Etta  had  not  a  particle  of  jealousy  about  her,  but 
a  reckless  manner  of  bestowing  her  affections.  Judith 
was,  in  short,  the  friend  she  had  wanted  all  her  life, 
so  perfectly  admirable  that  one  felt  oneself  the  better 
for  just  sitting  at  her  feet. 

"  Very  well.  I'll  talk  of  anything  you  like.  Isn't  it 
a  lovely  day?  No,  I  won't  get  in.  I'll  walk  beside 
you.  Do  tell  father  that  you've  noticed  that  clump  of 
delphiniums  on  the  left.  He's  fearfully  proud  of  it. 
Have  you  heard  our  news?  No!  Well,  I'll  tell  you 
when  we  get  in.  Jem !  " 

Jem  Mole,  who  had  been  restored  to  his  former  post, 
after  coming  in  person  and  promising  to  turn  over  a 
new  leaf  in  it  (a  promise  he  had  spoilt  somewhat  by 
saying  he  supposed  they  "  wanted  summun  anyways, 
now  the  Lunnoner  had  run  away."  The  rector  had 
been  very  sharp  with  him  for  daring  to  entertain  this 
supposition).  Jem  Mole,  then,  came  forth  in  response 
to  this  call,  and  was  ordered  to  show  Judith's  retainer 
the  coach-house,  and  look  after  him  generally. 

There  was  so  little  time  before  lunch,  which  had 
been  specially  delayed  in  honor  of  Judith's  visit,  that 
it  was  not  until  they  had  sat  down  to  it,  and  the  con- 
versation, after  passing  from  Homer  and  gardening  to 
recipes  for  raspberry  wine  and  theatricals,  had  begun 
to  languish,  that  Judith  bethought  herself  of  what 
Etta  had  said,  and  asked  innocently — 

"  What  was  the  news  you  were  going  to  tell  me?  " 


The  Triumph  of  Mr.  Boke  195 

"  It  was  about  our  disappearing  groom,  for  a  six- 
pence, Etta  ?  "  said  the  rector  in  a  sporting  mood. 

Etta  nodded. 

"  A  disappearing  groom?  "  said  Judith. 

"  Who  called  himself  Higginson,"  said  Mrs.  War- 
ley,  anxious  to  bear  her  part.  "  But  whose  real  name 
was, — there,  Etta,  I've  forgotten  it  again." 

"  Faviel,"  said  Etta. 

"  What  name  did  you  say?  "  If  Judith  had  spoken 
quickly  in  reply  to  Etta's  mention  of  Mr.  Blenken- 
stein,  she  spoke  ten  times  more  quickly  now.  Nobody 
but  Etta,  however,  noticed  it. 

"  Faviel,"  said  the  rector.  "  F— A— V— I— E— L. 
A  good  Norman  name,  I  should  say,  and  one  that,  for 
the  sake  of  euphony,  I  should  myself  prefer  to  Hig- 
ginson. However,  for  some  reason  or  other,  which  as 
yet  remains  to  be  found  out,  the  young  man,  who  is, 
by  the  way,  one  of  the  pleasantest  young  men  I  have 
met,  and  an  excellent  groom"  (Mr.  Warley  could 
not  refrain  from  giving  this  testimonial),  "preferred 
to  adopt  the  alias,  and  also  to  change  his  profession, 
which  was,  I  understand,  that  of  a  traveler — an  ex- 
ploring traveler,  I  should  say,  and  not  what  is  under- 
stood as  such  on  what,  I  believe,  is  technically  known 
as  '  the  road ' — for  that  of  odd  man  here.  Etta,  I 
see,"  continued  the  rector,  suddenly  called  to  a  con- 
sideration of  other  people's  feelings  in  the  matter, 
"  is  burning  to  tell  you  the  story  herself.  So  is 
my  wife,  ha!  May  I  give  you  another  slice  of  mut- 
ton?" 

Judith  hardly  knew  if  she  had  the  other  slice  of 
mutton  or  not.  She.  was  eating  apple  tart  before  the 
facts  known  to  the  Warleys  concerning  Mr.  Faviel 
were  all  before  her,  and  she  had  recovered  her  out- 


196  The  Triumph  of  Mr.  Boke 

ward  composure  sufficiently  to  say,  in  reply  to  a  sudden 
recollection  on  the  part  of  the  rector, 

"  Yes,  it  was  from  our  house  he  disappeared.  We 
knew  Mr.  Faviel  quite  well.  He  is  very  nice." 

It  sounded  a  strange  thing  to  be  saying,  but  Judith 
said  it  in  the  most  serene  voice. 

"  Dear  me !  "  said  Mr.  Warley,  duly  interested  by 
this  new  item  of  information.  "  Every  one  seems  to 
know  our  late  groom,  and  to  like  him.  Etta,  I  be- 
lieve, was  quite  in  love  with  him." 

It  was  one  of  those  jocular  remarks  of  which  the 
maker  is  the  last  person  to  perceive  the  point.  Etta, 
whom  it  hit  rather  unpleasantly,  had  the  misfortune 
to  blush,  aware  that  Judith's  eyes  were  fixed  on 
her. 

"  Mr.  Faviel  seems  to  have  taken  a  most  pleasant 
situation,"  said  Judith  ironically,  and  Mr.  Warley  was 
convinced  that  she  appreciated  his  humor. 

"  One  of  the  most  curious  things  about  the  whole 
thing,"  said  Mr.  Warley,  "  is  that  a  friend  of  Mr. 
Faviel's,  a  Mr.  Wilton,  happened  to  call  here — an- 
other story,  as  the  novelist  says — in  a  motor-car  which 
he  must  have  left  in  his  friend's  keeping  without  ever 
recognizing  who  he  was." 

"Really?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Mr.  Warley,  "  an  instance,  I  should 
say,  of  how  unobservant  most  of  us  are  of  those  who 
minister  to  our  wants.  Our  friend's  coachman,  we 
say,  and  scarcely  look  at  him." 

It  was  after  lunch,  and  when  Etta  had  carried  her 
friend  into  the  garden,  that  Judith  harked  back  to  this 
point.  Etta  had  had  an  unpleasant  conviction  that  she 
would,  and  recognized  almost  her  own  words  to  Mr. 
Wilton,  when  Judith  spoke. 


The  Triumph  of  Mr.  Boke  197 

"  It  does  seem  very  curious  that  Mr.  Wilton 
shouldn't  have  recognized  Mr.  Faviel." 

"Doesn't  it?"  said  Etta  uneasily. 

"  Did  he  say  that  he  didn't  recognize  him  ?  " 

"  He— he  didn't  say  it,"  said  Etta.  "  At  least,  not 
to  me.  But  he — he  certainly  tried  to  convey  the  im- 
pression." She  felt  a  horrible  hypocrite.  Why  Judith 
wanted  to  know  about  it,  she  had  no  means  of  telling; 
nor  why  she  was  so  eager.  Could  it  be — the  idea  came 
quite  suddenly — could  it  be  that  Higginson  accounted 
in  some  way  for  Judith's  disinclination  to  talk  about 
Mr.  Blenkenstein  ?  Could  there  have  been  something 
between  him  and  Judith?  Was  there  something  still? 
The  idea  came  all  hot  to  Etta,  and  explained,  or 
seemed  at  the  moment  to  explain,  the  look  Judith  had 
thrown  her  when  her  father  made  that  silly  remark  at 
lunch-time. 

"Of  course  it  was  all  nonsense  what  my  father 
said,"  she  burst  out  precipitately,  and  wished  she 
hadn't. 

"  What  was  that  ?  "  Judith  inquired. 

"  About  my  being  in  love  with  Mr.  Faviel." 

"  Perhaps  it  was  the  other  way  about,"  said  Judith 
pleasantly,  "  and  Mr.  Faviel  was  in  love  with  you. 
What  a  lovely  color  those  lilies  are !  " 

Poor  Etta  was  no  match  for  this  sort  of  coolness. 
She  had  hoped  to  be  acting  kindly  by  blurting  out  that 
information,  but  it  sounded  as  though  there  were  no 
subject  in  the  world  which  possessed  less  interest  for 
Miss  Mallendon  than  the  subject  of  Higginson. 

"Yes,  aren't  they?"  said  Etta,  and  kept  to  lilies 
and  such  things  for  the  rest  of  the  visitor's  stay. 

To  Judith,  though  she  was  too  generous  to  show  it, 
the  conversation,  in  its  new  channel,  was  the  most 


198  The  Triumph  of  Mr.  Boke 

tedious  she  had  ever  carried  on.  Not  that  she  would 
have  returned  to  the  subject  of  Higginson.  She  had 
dismissed  it,  because  she  could  not  bear  to  hear  more 
of  it.  She  was  not  jealous.  She  could  not  be  jealous 
of  this  simple,  friendly  girl,  who  had  sought  her  for 
a  friend.  But  supposing  it  were  true  that  Mr.  Faviel 
had  fallen  in  love  with  Etta.  It  would  be  an  easy 
thing  for  a  man  to  do,  Judith  supposed.  Etta  was 
pretty  and  innocent.  A  man  might  fall  in  love  with 
prettiness  and  innocence  surely  without  any  harm 
done. 

But  in  that  case  the  man  should  say  so.  Perhaps 
he  meant  to.  Perhaps  it  was  for  that  he  had  asked 
her  to  meet  him.  He  realized,  no  doubt,  that  he  had 
given  her,  Judith,  reason  to  suppose  that,  other  things 
being  equal,  other  girls  not  being  more  charming,  she 
might  expect  to  hear  from  him.  Here,  then,  was  a 
charming  girl,  whom  he  had  somehow  lighted  on,  and 
he  meant  to  tell  her  so.  No,  no,  he  would  not  dare. 
He  would  have  the  grace  at  least  not  to  intrude  upon 
her  heart  again.  She  could  strike  a  man  who  should 

offer  such  a  blow  to  her  pride  as  that Besides,  it 

was  not  like  him.  He  might  be  heedless,  he  was  not 
lacking  in  all  decency.  Yet  why  should  he  have  lived 
as  a  servant  all  this  time  at  the  rectory,  if  there  were 
no  such  inducement  as  the  rector's  daughter?  And 
why,  when  he  had  spent  a  fortnight  or  more  within 
easy  distance  of  communication,  should  he  have  de- 
layed to  communicate  with  her  until  now,  when  the 
communication  was  to  be  made  in  secret  ? 

The  irrepressible  hopes  that  had  sprung  up  in 
Judith's  heart  faded  to  nothing,  as  the  afternoon  wore 
on,  and  she  had  never  felt  more  hopeless  than  when 
she  took  the  reins  in  her  hand  for  the  return  journey. 


The  Triumph  of  Mr.  Boke  199 

As  if  in  sympathy  with  her  mood,  the  day  that  had 
been  so  bright  after  the  morning's  shower  had 
gloomed;  and  heavy  clouds  had  begun  to  form  in  the 
more  distant  sky. 

"  Almost,"  said  the  rector,  "  like  thunder.  You're 
sure  you  won't  wait,  and  see  if  it's  going  to  pass 
over?" 

Judith  thanked  him  and  declined,  pleading  guests 
to  be  entertained. 

"  I  expect  I  shall  get  in  before  the  rain  comes, 
anyhow,"  she  said.  "  Good-by,  and  you  will  let  me 
have  some  of  those  delphinium  seeds,  won't  you? 
Good-by,  Mrs.  Warley,  and  thank  you  so  much. 
Farewell,  my  maid !  " 

"  Farewell,  princess !  "  said  Etta,  and  Judith  drove 
off  under  cover  of  an  outward  show  of  cheerfulness. 
The  rector  remarked  that  he  had  rarely  seen  a  more 
favorable  type  of  the  modern  young  lady,  and  went 
off  to  make  a  note  of  "  delphinium  seeds  for  Miss 
Mallendon  "  in  his  garden  book. 

The  rain  came  on,  unluckily,  some  little  time  before 
Judith  reached  The  Ashlands.  Unluckily,  because  her 
plan  of  getting  out  there  and  letting  the  groom  drive 
on,  since  she  meant  to  walk  back  for  the  sake  of  the 
exercise,  was  made  a  good  deal  less  ingenious  thereby. 
It  sounded  so  unlikely  that  she  would  want  to  stroll 
home  by  the  woods  in  a  driving  rain  with  no  umbrella. 
It  added  to  her  humiliations  to  have  to  make  up  such 
a  tale,  but  since  her  ingenuity  had  departed  from  her 
— with  everything  else,  it  seemed — and  she  could  think 
of  nothing  else  to  say,  she  said  it  with  what  spirit  she 
could.  The  groom,  being  young,  ventured  on  no 
remonstrance,  and  only  asked  if  he  should  send  some 
one  with  a  wrap  to  meet  her,  which  Judith  forbade. 


2oo          The  Triumph  of  Mr.  Boke 

She  descended  on  the  road,  and  waited  there  till  the 
dogcart  had  passed  the  lodge  gates.  There  were  two 
ways  into  the  woods  which  Mr.  Faviel  had  appointed 
for  the  meeting  place;  one  a  turning  out  of  The  Ash- 
lands  drive,  the  other  a  footpath  beyond  the  lodge 
gates  that  led  through  fields  into  the  coverts.  Judith 
chose  the  latter,  in  order  that  she  might  not  encounter 
any  of  the  Ashlands  people.  Besides,  she  was  far  less 
likely  to  meet  any  one  at  all  on  the  road  at  this  time 
(it  was  getting  towards  six  o'clock)  than  she  was 
inside  the  gates.  So  she  thought,  and  was  annoyed 
to  see  a  young  man  coming  towards  her  almost  as  soon 
as  she  crossed  the  stile  into  the  first  field. 

He  was  a  young  man,  whose  Sunday  clothes  rather 
added  to  than  detracted  from  his  air  of  disreputability, 
and  he  wore  his  bowler  hat  at  a  rakish  angle  unknown 
to  those  parts.  It  seemed  to  Judith  that  she  recog- 
nized him,  though  where  she  had  seen  him  before  or 
who  he  was  she  could  not  remember.  In  any  case,  he 
was  not  a  young  man  with  whom  she  would  have 
wanted  any  conversation,  and  she  was  hurrying  on, 
not  displeased  to  know  that  he  was  going  in  the  oppo- 
site direction,  when  he  stopped  dead  in  front  of 
her. 

"  Beg  your  parding,  miss,"  he  said.  "  But  might  I 
arst  you  to  do  me  a  bit  of  a  favor  if  it  ain't  botherin' 
you  too  much  ?  " 

"  What  do  you  want  ?  "  asked  Judith. 

"  Why,"  said  the  young  man,  "  I  wants  something 
which,  as  our  nashernal  poet  'appily  puts  it,  waits  for 
no  feller,  the  time — miss." 

Judith  pulled  out  her  watch,  knowing  that  if  it  was 
her  watch  this  unpleasant  young  man  was  after,  it 
was  too  conspicuous  in  any  case  to  be  concealed. 


The  Triumph  of  Mr.  Boke  201 

"  Five  minutes  to  six,"  she  said.  She  had  timed 
herself  to  be  at  the  trysting  place  at  the  exact  time. 
Since  she  was  bound  thither — which  was  the  great  sub- 
mission— she  had  determined  to  be  minutely  obedient 
to  her  instructions. 

"  Thank'ee,  miss.  You  'ave,"  said  the  young  man, 
with  a  flourish  of  his  bowler  hat  that  was  in  itself  an 
impertinence,  "  you  'ave,  miss,  supplied  a  long-felt 
want,  my  own  ticker  being  at  the  jooler's,  which,  under 
the  circs,  would  'a'  been  orkid,  but  for  your  hoppor- 
tune  arrival.  The  circs,  I  may  say,"  he  continued — 
Judith  remained  silent — "  is  that  my  young  woman — 
the  gel,  in  fact,  with  which  I  am  walkin'  hout,  prom- 
ised 'er  muvver  to  do  a  Sunday  School  or  a  Band  of 
'Ope  at  seven  punct,  and  do  it  she  will.  But,  naterally, 
she  don't  want  to  cut  short  our  pleasink  little  jaunt 
afore  dooty  calls.  I  lef  the  maiden  all  forlorn  under 
them  spreadin'  chestnut  trees,  and  to  'er  I  must 
return." 

Whereupon,  with  another  flourish,  the  young  man 
turned  and  preceded  Judith  down  the  path  leading  to 
the  woods. 

Had  he  been  a  more  rough-looking  man,  Judith 
would  have  gone  on  without  delay.  But  his  oily  im- 
pudence was  so  disgusting  to  her  in  her  present  frame 
of  mind,  and  so  likely  to  be  renewed,  she  fancied,  if 
she  gave  him  the  opportunity,  that  she  turned  back 
and  got  on  the  road  again.  If  the  man's  story  was 
true,  he  and  the  girl  would  probably  go  soon.  She 
strode  about  impatiently  for  five  minutes,  and  then, 
incapable  of  any  more  delay,  walked  swiftly  to  the 
woods.  She  found  the  glade  Mr.  Faviel  had  appointed 
easily  enough,  and  for  a  little  was  consoled  for  Mr. 
Faviel's  non-appearance  by  the  fact  that  the  young 


2O2  The  Triumph  of  Mr.  Boke 

man  and  his  girl  were  not  there.     She  walked  to  and 
fro,  thinking  "  He  will  surely  come  soon." 

It  was  a  cheerless  place,  the  glade,  in  that  weather. 
The  great  trees,  thick  with  summer,  dripped  heavily, 
and  the  black  clouds  overhead  made  an  early  twilight 
of  the  scene.  Judith  in  her  thin  frock,  already  soaked, 
began  to  shiver.  She  was  not  conscious  of  being  cold; 
only  of  being  dully  impatient.  She  looked  at  her 
watch  every  now  and  then.  Twenty  minutes  past 
six;  five  and  twenty  past;  half -past;  twenty  to  seven. 
She  would  not  look  for  some  time  again,  and  moved 
up  and  down  under  the  drenching  sky  like  a  cat  behind 
bars. 

Five  minutes  to  seven.  For  five  desperate  minutes 
longer  she  stayed  there;  then  she  turned  and  went 
away. 

She  had  come  so  swiftly,  but  she  went  away  with 
slow  steps  and  a  bowed  head.  She  went  by  the  other 
path,  and  came  out  in  the  drive  leading  to  the  house. 
A  man  was  hurrying  down  it,  with  a  cloak  under  his 
arm,  and  an  umbrella  up. 

"  Judith !  "  said  Blenkenstein.  "  My  dear  child,  but 
you're  wet  through.  Where  have  you  been  ?  " 

"  I  thought  I'd  walk  home,"  said  Judith  weakly. 
'  Your  man  told  me  you'd  got  down — in  the  rain — 
and  I've  been  looking  for  you  ever  since.     Put  this 
on." 

Blenkenstein's  manner,  due  largely  to  his  anxiety  to 
know  if  Judith  had  met  Faviel,  and  if,  as  a  conse- 
quence, Mr.  Boke's  plans  had  miscarried,  seemed  to 
her  unusually  ardent.  She  submitted  to  put  on  the 
cloak  and  take  his  arm.  She  felt  grateful  to  him  for 
not  scolding  her  or  questioning  her. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

THE   ARRIVAL   OF   BUTT 

THE  late  morning  post  brought  Mr.  Blenkenstein  a 
letter  while  he  was  strolling  with  Lady  Mallendon, 
Miss  Finch,  O'Levin,  and  Jimmy  round  the  garden 
before  lunch.  He  looked  so  radiant  when  he  had 
opened  it  that  Lady  Mallendon,  who  was  engaged  in 
opening  a  telegram  that  had  come  for  her  at  the  same 
time,  could  not  help  remarking  upon  it. 

"  Is  it  good  news  ?  "  she  said.  "  I'm  not  curious  to 
know  what  it  is,  of  course.  But  I  do  like  to  know 
that  people  have  received  good  news.  One  so  seldom 
does  by  post.  I  don't  know  why,  I'm  sure.  I  always 
write  the  most  hearty  letters  myself,  but  I  never  re- 
ceive them." 

"  Oh,  my  news  is  excellent,  thank  you,"  said 
Blenkenstein,  "  excellent !  "  It  was  indeed  a  letter 
from  Mr.  Boke  to  say  that  his  plans  had  not  mis- 
carried. 

"  I  expect,"  said  Miss  Finch,  "  that  Mr.  Blenken- 
stein has  made  a  hundred  thousand  pounds — by  buy- 
ing ruby-mines  or  something  of  that  sort."  Miss 
Finch  was  a  little  vague  about  financial  operations. 

"  Only  ten  thousand,"  said  Blenkenstein,  with  a 
significant  glance  at  O'Levin. 

"  Sure  ?  "  said  the  latter,  with  a  frown. 

"  Pretty  positive,"  said  Blenkenstein. 

"Well,  ye  don't  deserve  it,"  said  O'Levin  with  a 


204  The  Arrival  of  Butt 

frown.  He  could  not  help  guessing  what  Blenken- 
stein  meant,  and  regretted  more  than  ever  that  he  had 
helped  him  to  Faviel's  undoing.  He  ought  never  to 
have  given  that  dinner. 

"  What  this  telegram  of  mine  means,"  said  Lady 
Mallendon,  who  had  succeeded  in  getting  it  out  of  the 
wrapper — "  I  really  don't  know — can  any  one  tell  me. 
listen — '  Mumpers  bosh  only  an  old  gland  uppish,  doc 
says  no  infection.  Coming  along  to-day  if  will  have 
me — BUTTER.'  It  sounds  most  extraordinary." 

"  Why,  it's  young  Butt,"  said  Jimmy,  not  without 
eagerness.  "  He's  going  to  come  to-day.  Probably 
started." 

"  But  I  thought  he  was  suffering  from  mumps  ?  " 

"  Don't  you  see  ?  he  says  that  was  bosh.  He's  only 
got  swelled  up — toothache,  I  dare  say." 

"  Well,  I'm  sure  that's  very  nice  for  you,  Jimmy," 
said  Lady  Mallendon — "  if  it  really  isn't  infectious. 
He  would  arrive  this  afternoon,  wouldn't  he?  One  of 
Jimmy's  greatest  friends,"  she  explained  at  large, 
"  who  was  supposed  to  have  mumps,  but  hasn't,  it 
seems.  A  very  nice  kind-hearted  boy,  didn't  you  say. 
Jimmy  ?  " 

"  Don't  remember  saying  it,"  said  Jimmy. 
"  Young  Butter's  all  right  if  you  leave  him  alone  and 
don't  ask  him  to  hand  tea-cakes  and  that  sort  of  thing. 
He  doesn't  care  for  women  much." 

"  I  hope  he  won't  make  you  a  misogynist,"  said 
Lady  Mallendon,  a  little  anxiously. 

"  Oh,  he  doesn't  insist  upon  it  for  other  people." 
said  Jimmy,  adding — lest  Butt's  dislike  of  social  life 
should  cause  him  to  be  underestimated — "  He's  a  jolly 
good  place-kick." 

"  Oh,  that  is  nice,"  said  Lady  Mallendon. 


The  Arrival  of  Butt  205 

"  And  plays  for  the  second,"  said  Jimmy  im- 
pressively. 

"  Bit  of  a  sportsman,  then,"  said  O'Levin. 

"  Do  you  think,"  said  Lady  Mallendon,  who  liked 
to  consult  the  tastes  of  her  guests,  "  that  he  would 
like  to  play  for  the  second  here?  I  don't  quite  know 
what  playing  for  the  second  is,"  she  added  hastily, 
observing  Jimmy's  brows  lower. 

"  It's  '  Rugger  '  in  this  case,"  said  Jimmy  shortly. 

"  I  thought,"  said  Lady  Mallendon,  "  that  it  might 
be  something  like  tip-cat.  There  is  a  set  of  tip-cat 
you  used  to  play  with,  Jimmy,  up  in  the  box-room. 
I'm  sure  it's  there,  because  Mrs.  Rogers  asked  me, 
only  the  other  day,  what  she  should  do  with  it.  We 
could  get  it  out  if  you  think  Butt  would  enjoy  a 
game." 

"  Look  here,  mater,"  said  Jimmy,  coloring,  from 
consciousness  that  O'Levin's  features  were  preter- 
naturally  taut  and  strained,  "  if  you'll  leave  young 
Butter  to  me,  it'll  be  all  right.  Otherwise,  I  can't 
answer  for  him." 

"  Very  well,"  said  Lady  Mallendon  submissively, 
"  just  as  you  please.  I  only  thought 

"  Yes,  I  know,"  said  Jimmy,  "  but  you  needn't 
bother  to." 

O'Levin  good-naturedly  started  a  brisk  conversation 
at  this  point  with  Miss  Finch,  thus  saving  Jimmy's 
feelings,  always  liable  to  be  adversely  affected  when 
his  mother  made  mistakes,  as  she  generally  did,  in 
school  and  sporting  matters,  particularly  if  other  peo- 
ple were  present. 

Butt  arrived  in  time  for  tea,  and  turned  out  to  be 
a  boy  of  Jimmy's  age  and  height,  but  heavily  built, 
with  a  large  head  and  a  persecuted  look,  which,  at 


206  The  Arrival  of  Butt 

sight  of  the  large  numbers  of  people  he  was  expected 
to  confront,  increased  to  a  positively  hounded  expres- 
sion. Lady  Mallendon,  who  had  been  looking  up  a 
school-list  and  had  discovered  his  Christian  name  to 
be  Augustus,  completed  his  discomfiture  by  address- 
ing him  under  this  title. 

"  If  I'd  known,"  he  gloomily  remarked  to  Jimmy 
after  tea,  "  that  you  had  all  these  people  stopping  here, 
I  wouldn't  have  come." 

"  They  don't  matter,"  said  Jimmy,  "  we  don't  have 
to  see  any  more  of  them  than  we  want  to.  Some  of 
them  aren't  bad,  you  know,  if  you  take  them  in  the 
right  way.  Let's  go  and  fish  now." 

A  couple  of  hours  at  this  manly  and  sequestered 
sport,  rewarded  as  they  were  by  several  roach  and  a 
bream  weighing  over  a  pound,  restored  Butt's  spirits 
sufficiently  to  admit  of  his  making  up  for  what  he  had 
lost  at  tea  during  the  dinner  hour.  Jimmy  had  had 
the  foresight  to  place  his  friend  between  himself  and 
Judith — with  a  request  to  Judith  not  to  worry  him,  and 
with  the  result  that  much  to  his  own  surprise  Butt 
found  himself  chatting  quite  affably  before  the  meal 
was  halfway  through.  Judith  showed  an  amazing 
intelligence  in  listening  to  accounts  of  matches,  of  the 
mean  advantages  taken  by  masters  against  boys  of  a 
modest  but  not  energetic  temperament,  and  of  the 
triumphant  retaliations  sometimes  effected  by  the  gen- 
tle victims  upon  their  tyrants. 

The  conversation  was  a  relief  to  Butt,  and  it  was 
also  a  relief  to  Judith,  inasmuch  as  it  saved  her  from 
having  to  listen  perpetually  to  her  right-hand  neigh- 
bor, Mr.  Blenkenstein.  She  had  scarcely  spoken  with 
him  since  he  met  her  in  the  drive  the  evening  before, 
and  it  was  her  one  desire  not  to  be  hurried  into  break- 


The  Arrival  of  Butt  207 

ing  the  silver  silence.  Sometime,  she  knew,  she  would 
have  to  speak  and  answer  him.  It  was  expected  of 
her  and  rightly.  But  she  wanted  to  delay  till  the  last 
inevitable  moment.  She  had  given  up  thought  of  Mr. 
Faviel,  or  thought  she  had.  She  had  no  desire  to 
explain  his  absence  from  the  glade;  she  was  content 
to  accept  it,  as  something  that  fate  had  brought  about 
for  the  best.  They  were  not  destined  to  see  one 
another  and  speak  with  one  another,  it  seemed :  and  it 
was  well.  She  kept  her  thoughts  to  herself,  and  felt 
almost  a  mild  hilarity  in  Butt's  conversation.  That 
youth  admitted  to  Jimmy  that  his  cousin  was  one  of 
the  decentest  girls  he'd  ever  met. 

Judith  further  impressed  the  unsusceptible  Butt  on 
the  morning  of  the  following  day,  Tuesday,  when 
three  times  in  five  minutes  she  bowled  him  out  at 
Jimmy's  private  nets — at  the  far  end  of  the  lawn — 
with  a  medium  to  fast  over-arm  ball  that  had  no  sus- 
picion of  a  chuck  in  it. 

"  You  keep  a  jolly  good  length,"  said  Butt,  aston- 
ished, as  his  center  stump  went  down  for  the  third 
time. 

"  I'm  afraid  I  shouldn't  come  off  in  a  match,"  said 
Judith  modestly. 

"  Well,  of  course,  match-play  is  rather  different," 
Butt  admitted.  "  Girls  haven't  got  the  nerve  for  it  as 
a  rule.  Shall  I  give  you  a  few  balls,  now ?  " 

"  No,  thank  you,"  said  Judith.  "  I'm  quite  useless 
at  batting,  and  I  should  funk  you,  I'm  sure." 

"  I  don't  know.  I'm  not  so  fast.  Still  I  shouldn't 
like  to  hurt  you,"  Butt  said.  "  I  wish  my  cousins  were 
as  good  as  you.  I  should  get  some  practice,  if  they 
were.  I  dare  say  you  can  sprint  a  bit,"  he  added,  with 
a  dispassionate  admiration  of  Judith's  figure. 


208  The  Arrival  of  Butt 

She  laughingly  admitted  that  she  could  a  little,  and 
covered  her  shyness  at  Master  Butt's  undisguised  com- 
pliments by  asking  what  he  and  Jimmy  were  going  to 
do  that  afternoon. 

"  Going  for  a  walk,"  said  Jimmy,  and  intimated  by 
a  wink  at  his  friend  that  no  further  confidence  need 
be  exchanged. 

The  walk  upon  which  Jimmy  had  decided  was  one 
which  he  had  had  in  mind  for  two  or  three  days  past. 
It  will  be  remembered  that  in  escaping  from  Mr.  Dunt, 
he  had  of  necessity  to  throw  away  the  comparatively 
new  weapon  which  had  occasioned  the  farmer's  ire. 
Jimmy  had  cast  it  with  a  good  deal  of  care  behind  a 
hedge  with  a  view  to  future  discovery.  He  had  not 
so  far  gone  back  after  it,  partly  because  there  was  a 
chance  of  re-encountering  the  farmer,  which,  alone 
and  unaided,  was  not  to  be  risked,  partly  because  the 
carter,  whose  horse  and  cart  still  stood  in  Sir  Jasper's 
stable,  might  also  be  waiting  about  there. 

It  was  a  curious  thing  that  nobody  had  come  to 
inquire  about  them — or  the  wardrobe — and  Jimmy  had 
begun  to  think  that  he  could  not  have  been  spotted 
going  off  with  it,  as  he  had  supposed  in  the  first 
instance  to  be  the  case.  At  The  Ashlands  his  connec- 
tion with  them  had  not  been  suspected.  A  good  many 
theatrical  properties  and  various  luggage  had  arrived 
at  about  the  same  time,  and  the  wardrobe  was  sup- 
posed to  have  been  forwarded  by  mistake.  The  coach- 
man had  asked  Sir  Jasper  if  he  was  to  go  on  feeding 
the  horse,  and  Sir  Jasper  had  replied,  "  Certainly,  until 
it  was  fetched." 

It  had  not  been  fetched,  and  Jimmy  had  a  curiosity 
to  revisit  the  scene  of  his  highway  robbery.  With 
Butt  as  an  ally  it  could  be  done  in  comparative  safety, 


The  Arrival  of  Butt  209 

for  the  two  of  them  together — Jimmy  argued — could 
at  least  outwit  the  farmer  or  the  carter,  even  if  they 
could  not  oppose  them  by  brute  strength.  Butt  was 
of  opinion  the  latter  could  be  tried  with  good  prospect 
of  success,  and  was  disposed  to  vote  for  hand-to-hand 
contest.  They  started  out,  finally,  with  catapults  for 
skirmishing  with,  and  a  stout  piece  of  rope,  which 
could,  Jimmy  thought,  be  used  primarily  as  a  lasso,  and 
secondarily  to  bind  the  hands  and  legs  of  any  captive 
that  might  turn  up.  It  was  wound  round  Butt's  body, 
and  made  him  a  conspicuous  object. 

Jimmy  led  the  way.  He  had  not  succeeded  in 
striking  the  same  bargain  with  his  mother  as  on  the 
previous  occasion,  Lady  Mallendon  arguing,  with  jus- 
tice, that  Augustus's  companionship  made  a  walk  less 
of  a  tedious  affair,  and  therefore  of  less  pecuniary 
value  than  a  solitary  one.  Two  shillings  were  ex- 
tracted, in  case  they  should  stop  out  to  tea,  but  Lady 
Mallendon  almost  wished  they  wouldn't.  She  felt  re- 
sponsible, she  said,  for  Augustus.  What  would  she 
say  to  Augustus's  parents  if  anything  ill  befell  him? 
She  should  certainly  be  anxious  until  they  returned. 

Jimmy  then  led  the  way  to  Farmer  Dunt's  fields,  but 
except  that,  a  little  later  on,  he  received  an  idea  that 
was  destined  to  bear  fruit  in  quite  an  unexpected 
fashion,  nothing  occurred  to  justify  Lady  Mallendon's 
anxiety.  Butt  did,  indeed,  the  day  being  a  warm  one, 
develop  a  kind  of  rash  from  wearing  the  rope  round 
his  body,  but  a  bathe  in  the  stream  where  Jimmy  had 
tethered  his  cart-horse  on  the  previous  expedition 
remedied  this.  When  they  came  eventually  to  the  base 
of  operations,  Farmer  Dunt,  luckily  for  himself  per- 
haps, was  not  there,  and  Jimmy  and  Butt,  having 
recovered  the  gun,  the  stick  cover  of  which  had  pre- 


2io  The  Arrival  of  Butt 

served  it  from  rain  and  dew,  had  shots  at  the  scare- 
crow undisturbed. 

The  idea,  to  which  reference  has  been  made,  oc- 
curred to  Jimmy  on  the  way  home,  and  at  that  very 
same  inn  from  which  Jimmy  had  abstracted  the  cart. 

He  and  Butt  had  entered,  partly  from  curiosity, 
partly  for  tea,  and,  as  it  chanced,  the  bar  parlor  con- 
tained, besides  the  landlady,  two  persons  who  have 
already  played  parts  in  this  history.  One  was  the 
pink-faced  man,  and  the  other  was  Police-Constable 
Bigstock.  They  were,  though  Jimmy  did  not  at  once 
gather  it,  discussing  his  own  misdeed. 

"  The  curiousest  thing  I've  ever  heer'd  on,"  Mrs. 
Cleavin  was  saying,  as  the  boys  entered.  "  Quite  the 
curiousest.  Why,  I  do  declare,  and  here  be  Master 
Mallendon,  come  for  some  of  my  cider,  I  dare  say." 

Jimmy  had  patronized  the  inn  at  the  cross-roads 
before  now,  and  so  had  Sir  Jasper;  and  Mrs.  Cleavin 
knew  The  Ashlands. 

"  How  d'you  do,  Mrs.  Cleavin?  "  said  Jimmy  cheer- 
fully. "  Fine  day,  Sergeant?" 

"  It  be,"  said  Mr.  Bigstock,  gratified  by  the  title. 

"  We  will  have  some  cider,"  Jimmy  continued,  seat- 
ing himself  on  a  settle  with  Butt.  "  Two  pints,  please, 
Mrs.  Cleavin,  and  some  cake,  if  you've  got  any. 
What's  the  most  curious  thing  you  ever  heard  of?  " 

"  Why,"  said  Mrs.  Cleavin,  to  whom  the  idea  of 
Jimmy  and  the  boy  whom  Farmer  Dunt  had  described 
in  wrathful  language  as  a  "  ragging-muffing,"  being 
one  and  the  same,  never  occurred.  "  Why,  rightly 
speaking,  there's  two  things  that's  the  queerest  a  body 
ever  could  'a'  believed,  and  one's  the  vanishing  of  a 
man  called — what  is't  the  parson's  groom's  named,  Mr. 
Bigstock?" 


The  Arrival  of  Butt  211 

"  Farrell,"  said  Mr.  Bigstock,  "  is  'is  rightful  name, 
but  Higginson  is  what  he  calls  hisself." 

"  Farrell,"  repeated  Mrs.  Cleavin.  "  He's  one  of 
the  things.  Clean  gone  like  a  ghost  he  has.  And  the 
other's  a  hoss  an'  cart  and  wardrobe  driv'  by  this  man 
here  " — she  indicated  the  pink-faced  man — "  clean  run 
away  to  goodness  on'y  knows  where,  though  Mr.  Big- 
stock,  I  dare  say,  '11  show  us." 

Jimmy,  to  whom  the  name  of  Farrell  conveyed  little, 
was  fully  aware  that  the  second  mystery  was  one  of 
his  own  working.  He  kicked  Butt  on  the  shins  to 
admonish  him  what  was  up,  and  asked,  innocently, 

"  How  did  the  cart  get  run  away  with  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  expect  Mr.  Bigstock  '11  tell  'ee,  if  ye  ask 
'im,"  said  Mrs.  Cleavin — "  while  I'm  'a  getting  of 
they  cakes." 

"  Do  let's  hear,  Sergeant,"  said  Jimmy,  in  a  coaxing 
voice. 

Mr.  Bigstock  complied  with  the  request  in  a  dig- 
nified way.  The  second  mysterious  disappearance  had 
only  been  divulged  to  him  on  his  return  from  the 
Langston  Bucket  rectory  on  Saturday :  owing  to  the 
fact  that  the  proprietor  of  the  "  Sow  and  Pigs  "  had 
up  to  then  hourly  expected  the  return  of  his  horse  and 
cart.  As,  however,  it  had  not  turned  up,  and  the 
pink-faced  man,  in  spite  of  being  threatened  with  dis- 
missal, had  persisted  in  his  story  that  it  had  been 
driven  off  by  some  invisible  agency,  and  that  he 
couldn't  find  it  though  he  had  been  everywhere  he 
could  think  of,  the  proprietor  had  been  reluctantly 
compelled  to  put  the  matter  into  the  hands  of  the 
police.  But  for  the  fact  that  it  gave  him  a  good  deal 
of  importance,  and  could  also  be  treated  in  a  more 
high-minded  manner  than  the  first,  the  second  mystery 


212  The  Arrival  of  Butt 

would  have  driven  Mr.  Bigstock  distracted.  Nothing 
like  either  of  them  had  ever  before  been  heard  of  in 
Waybury,  and  Mr.  Bigstock  felt  that  if  he  failed  to 
unravel  them,  at  least  there  would  be  no  successful 
precedent  to  make  his  failure  inglorious.  The  pink- 
faced  man  was  as  wax  in  his  hands — unlike  Miss 
Faviel — and  consented  to  all  manner  of  cross-exam- 
ination and  theories  involving  sudden  pounces  upon 
the  most  unlikely  places  without  a  murmur.  Mr.  Big- 
stock's  presence  with  the  pink-faced  man  at  the  present 
moment  was  due  to  the  fact  that  it  had  seemed  to  him 
good  to  visit  the  scene  of  the  disaster  and  take  his 
bearings  from  there.  His  latest  theory  was  that  the 
cart  had  been  run  away  with  by  the  horse,  and  the 
horse  only,  and  was  to  be  found  in  some  chalk-pit  near 
the  inn. 

"  In  which  case,  of  course,"  Mr.  Bigstock  said  to 
the  pink-faced  man,  "  you'll  be  liable  to  pay  damages, 
Sam." 

"  I  ain't,"  said  the  pink-faced  miserably,  "  got  no 
damages  to  pay.  Mr.  Jopper — he  ain't  even  paid  me 
my  week's  wages — says  he  won't,  neither,  till  it's 
found." 

"  Well,  you  ain't  married,  luckily,"  said  Mr.  Big- 
stock.  "  So  I  dare  say  you'll  be  able  to  pay  it  off  at 
two  shillings  a  week." 

The  pink-faced  man  breathed  heavily  at  this  pros- 
pect, but  said  nothing,  and  Jimmy's  conscience  smote 
him.  He  resolved  to  make  amends. 

"  It's  a  funny  thing,"  he  said,  giving  Butt  another 
admonishing  kick,  "  but  our  coachman,  up  at  The  Ash- 
lands,  you  know,  was  talking  only  to-day  of  a  horse 
and  cart  that  he'd  got  in  the  stables,  and  didn't  know 
where  they'd  come  from;  did  he,  Butt?  " 


The  Arrival  of  Butt  213 

"  No,"  said  Butt,  giving  loyal  support.  "  Thought 
they  might  have  strayed." 

"  Hoss  with  one  white  sock  an'  two  patches  on  'is 
off  side  ?  "  asked  the  pink- faced  man  eagerly. 

"  I  believe  so,"  said  Jimmy,  and  Butt  nodded. 

"  Then  that's  'im,"  said  the  pink-faced  man, 
beaming. 

"Wait  a  bit!"  said  Mr.  Bigstock.  "Don't  you 
jump  to  conclusions,  Sam !  It  might  be,  an'  it  might 
not  be.  I  allow,"  said  Bigstock,  with  a  happy  and 
accommodating  stretch  of  the  imagination,  "  that  I  had 
a  theory  that  the  hoss  might  'a'  strayed  that  way. 
There's  a  wheeltrack  goin'  that  way  as  I  noticed,  upon 
comin'  in  here.  In  fac',  I  made  a  note  on  it.  There 
it  is."  Mr.  Bigstock  produced  his  notebook  and 
pointed  to  a  pencil-mark  on  one  of  the  pages.  "  I 
were  a-goin'  to  follow  that  there  track  as  far  as  The 
Ashlands,  examinin'  chalk-pits  on  the  way.  So  if  it 
turns  out  as  the  hoss  an'  cart  is  there,  that  there  theory 
of  mine'll  be  justified.  But  don't  you  jump  to  con- 
clusions, Sam.  It's  only  a  theory  of  mine,  mind,  and 
I  don't  say  nothink  for  certain  as  yit." 

"  Was  there  a  wardrobe  too  ?  "  asked  the  pink- faced 
man,  who  seemed  to  be  less  damped  by  Mr.  Bigstock's 
caution  than  he  had  hitherto  been. 

"  Yes,  there  was,"  said  Jimmy. 

"  To  think  oft,"  said  Mrs.  Cleavin,  who  had  in  the 
meanwhile  returned.  "  How  it  could  'a'  got  there — 
all  that  distance?  Flown,  I  dare  say.  I  would  never 
'a'  believed  it — never." 

:'  You  ain't  been  trained,  ma'am,"  explained  Mr. 
Bigstock,  "  not  to  foller  a  clue." 

"That's  true,"  said  Mrs.  Cleavin,  "I  ain't,  but 
there,  the  queerest  thing  about  it  all  still  to  my  mind, 


214  The  Arrival  of  Butt 

is  why  you  never  haven't  heerd  a  word  from  the 
genel'man,  if  genel'man  you  kin  call  'im,  as  the 
wardrobe  belongs  to.  Why  ain't  he  applied  to  you, 
Mr.  Bigstock?  To  hear  'im  you'd  'a'  thought,  when 
that  there  wardrobe  vanished,  there  was  a  diamond 
neckless  inside  of  it." 

"  You  would,"  the  pink-faced  man  agreed. 

"  You  can't  argy  from  that,"  said  Mr.  Bigstock. 

"  There  isn't  anything  inside,  anyhow,"  said  Jimmy, 
who  had  examined  the  wardrobe. 

"What  did  I  say?"  said  Mr.  Bigstock.  "You 
wouldn't — not  if  you  was  trained — you  wouldn't  ex- 
pect anything  to  be  inside  a  wardrobe  which  had  just 
been  bought  at  a  second-'and  shop." 

"  The  very  same  shop,  wasn't  it,"  said  Mrs.  Cleavin, 
"  as  the  young  man  vanished  from  ?  " 

Mr.  Bigstock  nodded. 

"  How  was  that  ?  "  asked  Jimmy. 

Mr.  Bigstock  told  this  story  also,  but  in  such  a 
rambling  manner  that  for  Jimmy — unacquainted  with 
the  facts — there  was  no  suggestion  of  Faviel  in  it.  It 
was  an  interesting  story,  however,  and  appealed  to 
Jimmy's  imagination. 

"  I  suppose,"  he  said  suddenly,  having  just  finished 
the  cake  Mrs.  Cleavin  had  provided,  "  that  groom- 
fellow  couldn't  possibly  have  been  in  the  wardrobe 
when  it  was  bought?  " 

Mr.  Bigstock  shook  his  head  over  such  an  amateur 
suggestion. 

"  I  thort  of  it,"  he  said.  "  We  have  to  think  of 
everything.  But  it  wouldn't  do.  He'd  be  there  now, 
if  he'd  got  in." 

"  He  might  have  got  out,"  said  Jimmy.  "  It  might 
explain  why  this  other  man — at  Hanging  Coppice, 


The  Arrival  of  Butt 

didn't  you  say? — was  in  such  a  rage  at  losing  it,  and 
didn't  like  to  apply  to  you,  eh?  " 

Mrs.  Cleavin  was  rather  taken  by  the  suggestion, 
which  made  Mr.  Bigstock  reject  it  the  more  crushingly. 

"  You  can  fit  anything  up  to  a  p'int,"  he  said.  "  But 
to  the  perfess'nal  detective  it  ain't  wuth  considera- 
tion." 

Jimmy,  in  spite  of,  or  perhaps  because  of,  Mr.  Big- 
stock's  positiveness,  thought  the  contrary,  and  in- 
stantly formed  the  germ  of  a  plan  for  going  up  to 
Hanging  Coppice  and  examining  into  its  inhabitants. 
It  was  only  a  small  germ,  however,  and  he  forgot  it  on 
the  way  home,  accompanied  as  he  and  Butt  were  by 
Mr.  Bigstock  and  the  pink-faced  man,  at  Mr.  Big- 
stock's  request. 

Things  needed  a  little  managing  when  they  did 
reach  The  Ashlands,  but  by  putting  Mr.  Bigstock  in 
communication  with  the  coachman,  and  through  him 
with  Sir  Jasper,  and  thereafter  discreetly  disappearing 
with  Butt,  Jimmy  contrived  to  effect  that  the  pro- 
prietor of  the  "  Sow  and  Pigs  "  should  be  put  into 
possession  of  his  lost  cart  and  horse  without  any  fur- 
ther light  being  thrown  upon  the  cause  of  their  dis- 
appearance. He  would  have  liked  to  tip  the  pink-faced 
man,  but  it  was  impossible  under  the  circumstances, 
and  he  had  to  abandon  the  idea. 

Later  on  in  the  evening  Jimmy  learned  from  his 
father  that  Mr.  Bigstock  had  requested  permission  for 
the  wardrobe  to  remain  where  it  was,  until  the  owner 
should  have  been  made  acquainted  with  its  where- 
abouts. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 
O'LEVIN  INSINUATES 

MR.  BLENKENSTEIN  hardly  knew  whether  to  be 
pleased  with  the  progress  of  his  affairs  or  not.  On 
the  one  hand,  they  had  gone  satisfactorily  enough. 
His  antagonist  was  a  captive  in  his  hands,  or,  to  be 
exact,  in  the  hands  of  his  agent;  and,  so  far  as  could 
be  judged,  likely  to  remain  so  for  the  four  days  that 
still  remained  to  complete  the  period  of  the  wager. 

The  thought  of  that  was  amazingly  gratifying.  He 
had  never  believed  at  first  that  luck  would  help  him 
to  be  sure  not  only  of  winning  the  £10,000,  but  also 
of  keeping  Faviel  away  from  the  Mallendons  for 
a  full  month.  One  or  other  he  had  hoped  for — not 
both.  Yet  both  seemed  certainties  now,  and  certainties 
that  would  be  brought  off  not  by  luck,  but  by  his 
own  cleverness.  He  had  done  some  clever  things  be- 
fore now,  but  never  one  so  clever  as  this.  Except  for 
that  first  slip  of  trying  to  have  Faviel  arrested  at  the 
start,  he  had  made  no  mistake.  Fortune  had  been 
against  him  more  often  than  not,  but  he  had  got 
the  better  of  fortune.  It  was  all  his  own  thought  to 
capture  Faviel,  and  not  give  him  the  letter  that  would 
prove  him  the  loser  until  the  month  was  out. 

There  was  nothing  in  the  rules  the  Committee  had 
drawn  up  to  make  that  dishonest.  Some  of  them 
might  not  think  it  sporting,  but  they  could  not  object 
to  it.  So  long  as  he — Blenkenstein — saw  to  it  that 

216 


O'Levin  Insinuates  217 

Faviel  received  the  letter  in  good  time,  nothing  else 
mattered;  and  he  had  made  sure  that  Faviel  should 
receive  it  in  good  time  by  having  him  locked  up  and 
guarded  in  a  place  where — at  any  moment — the  letter 
could  be  delivered  to  him.  By  that  same  means  he 
had  also  made  sure  that  there  would  be  no  more  inter- 
views between  Faviel  and  Miss  Mallendon. 

The  actual  mill  had  been  Boke's  selection,  but  the 
idea  had  been  his — his  own.  It  was  a  stroke  of  genius 
to  have  him  tied  up  there  as  good  as  spoiled  of 
£10,000 — and  yet  stopped  from  worrying  anybody 
but  Boke  and  Coppenwell.  Just  at  first,  Blenkenstein 
had  been  tempted  to  give  him  the  letter  (thereby 
winning  the  £10,000  straight  off)  and  still  keep  him 
in  the  mill.  A  fool  would  have  done  so — even 
an  ordinary  sensible  man  might  have  succumbed  to 
the  thought  of  clearing  all  that  money  beyond  any 
shadow  of  doubt.  But  if  he  had  done  so,  he  would 
either  have  had  to  let  Faviel  go  or  have  had  to 
risk  an  action  later.  So  long  as  the  wager  was  on, 
and  the  money  technically  unwon,  nothing  he  did 
would  be  actionable.  He  was  entitled  to  hold  up  Fa- 
viel till  the  letter  was  delivered  to  him.  He  could 
easily  profess  later — supposing  the  facts  came  to  Miss 
Mallendon's  ears,  and  no  doubt  some  of  Faviel's 
friends  would  try  to  make  the  most  of  them — that,  in 
keeping  back  the  letter  to  the  last  moment,  he  was 
really  acting  in  Faviel's  interests — giving  the  poor 
chap  a  chance.  He  didn't  want  to  win  all  his  worldly 
possessions — not  he.  He  had  rather  hoped  Faviel 
would  escape — was  certain  he  could  have  done  so  in 
Faviel's  place. 

Blenkenstein  could  almost  hear  himself  explaining 
this  to  Miss  Mallendon  later,  putting  Faviel  in  such 


2i 8  O'Levin  Insinuates 

a  ridiculous  light  that  even  his  friends  would  not  be 
able  to  defend  him.  Yes — it  had  been  a  fine  idea. 

In  another  direction,  too,  things  looked  rosy  enough. 
Miss  Mallendon  was  distinctly  more  approachable  than 
she  had  been  a  week  before.  The  reserve,  that  had 
amounted  almost  to  coolness,  was  changed  for  a  sub- 
dued friendliness  much  more  to  Blenkenstein's  mind. 
He  did  not  want  a  demonstrative  bride ;  demonstrative 
people  were  apt  to  become  a  nuisance.  He  could  do  all 
the  demonstration  that  was  needed,  and  there  wasn't 
very  much  needed.  All  he  desired  was  a  wife  he  could 
be  proud  of — who  was  proud,  but  who  wouldn't  be 
proud  towards  him.  Therefore  the  suggestion  of  al- 
most humility  that  was  visible  in  Miss  Mallendon  at 
present  pleased  him.  He  did  not  object  to  see  her 
subdued,  for  while  he  understood  it  was  due  in  part 
to  the  injury  done  to  her  pride  by  Faviel's  failure  to 
meet  her  on  that  Sunday  evening,  he  felt  that  ulti- 
mately it  was  he,  Blenkenstein,  who  had  subdued  her 
by  causing  the  tryst  to  fail.  All  this,  therefore,  was 
very  satisfactory  to  him. 

On  the  other  hand,  she  had  not  been  rendered  so 
completely  defenseless  that  he  could  with  perfect  cer- 
tainty end  the  siege,  so  to  speak,  by  storm.  Once  or 
twice,  when  he  had  gone  near  to  proposing  for  the 
second  time,  a  flash  of  the  old  spirit  had  reappeared, 
and  she  had  intimated  that  she  would  like  the  period 
of  the  armistice  to  be  observed  as  literally  as  possible. 
That  meant  he  was  not  to  ask  her  finally  until  Satur- 
day. The  fortnight  she  had  aske'd  for  came  to  an 
end  then.  The  month  fixed  for  the  wager  came  to  an 
end  on  the  same  day  at  midnight.  It  was  running 
things  rather  fine,  but  he  would  not  have  to  wait  to 
make  his  proposal  until  midnight.  Some  time  in  the 


O'Levin  Insinuates  219 

course  of  the  day — when  the  confounded  charity  en- 
tertainment was  over,  perhaps — he  would  do  it,  and 
Faviel  could  be  released  just  in  time  to  know  that  he 
was  too  late.  There  was  something  particularly  pleas- 
ant to  think  over  in  that. 

Still,  it  did  rather  annoy  Blenkenstein  that  he  must 
postpone  his  triumph  to  the  last  minute.  Another 
thing  that  annoyed  him  was  O'Levin's  behavior. 
O'Levin  had  come  up  to  him  on  Tuesday  evening  after 
dinner  and  insisted  on  settling  his  debts.  O'Levin 
had  been  rather  vicious  for  some  days  towards  Blen- 
kenstein, considering  that  he  owed  him  money,  and 
Blenkenstein  had  explained,  with  his  own  particular 
delicacy,  that  debts  and  liberties  didn't  match.  He 
had  not  supposed  O'Levin  had  the  money  to  pay  him 
with,  but  somehow  the  man  had  raised  it.  Blenken- 
stein had  thereupon  tried  to  laugh  off  the  pay- 
ment. 

"I  don't  want  it,  confound  it!"  he  said.  "Any 
time'll  do,  you  know." 

"  I  don't  want  it  either,"  said  O'Levin.  "  Tis  one 
o'  the  paradoxes  of  me  bright  career  that  I  never  do 
want  money  excepting  when  I  haven't  got  any.  So 
take  it,  Blink,  me  boy,  and  be  grateful.  'Tisn't  a  for- 
tune, but  ye  may  need  it  to  pay  off  your  own  debts 
at  the  end  of  the  week." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  said  Blenkenstein. 

"  The  ten  thousand,  sure,  that  ye  put  on  the  wager." 

"  I'm  hoping  Faviel's  going  to  pay  me  that." 

"  Are  ye,  now?  "  said  O'Levin.  "  I  expect  Faviel's 
hoping  that  same.  Ye  don't  seem  to  have  got  him 
yet,  and  d'ye  know  I  met  Maxhaven  the  other  day? 
Ye  remimber  him,  don't  ye?  A  long  American — he 
dined  with  us  that  night." 


22O  O'Levin  Insinuates 

"  Yes;  what  about  him?  " 

"  Why,  by  chance,"  said  O'Levin,  "  he  went  down 
into  the  country — so  he  tells  me — by  the  same  train 
as  Faviel;  a  train  starting  at  12:2." 

"  That's  when  Faviel  started,  is  it?  "  said  Blenken- 
stein,  with  affected  interest. 

"  Didn't  ye  know  it?  "  said  O'Levin.  "  Maxhaven 
told  me  that  he  got  out  at  a  bit  of  a  wayside  station, 
and  was  set  on  by  a  troop  of  fellows  that  were  looking, 
it  seemed,  for  Faviel.  Thought  they'd  got  him,  in 
fact.  They'd  also  started  by  the  12  :2." 

Blenkenstein  inwardly  anathematized  Mr.  Boke  for 
not  informing  him  who  it  was  that  he  had  attacked. 
Outwardly,  however,  he  affected  to  be  highly  amused. 

"  I  didn't  hear  of  that,"  he  said.  "  My  men,  of 
course  they  were  my  men," — (Blenkenstein  thought  it 
safest,  under  the  circumstances,  not  to  deny  this) — 
"  lost  sight  of  Faviel  altogether  that  night.  Never  told 
me  they  went  for  the  American,  though." 

"  Pretty  sharp  work,  starting  by  the  12 :2,  wasn't 
it?"  said  O'Levin. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know,"  said  Blenkenstein  coolly.  "  I 
took  every  precaution,  of  course.  Had  men  on  the 
lookout  at  all  the  principal  stations  from  twelve  punc- 
tually. Smart  work,  if  you  like." 

"  Very,"  said  O'Levin.  The  time  of  the  train's 
starting  was,  as  he  knew,  Faviel's  weak  point,  should 
he  think  of  claiming  a  foul.  It  was  practically  impos- 
sible that  Blenkenstein  should  not  have  anticipated  the 
time;  but  it  would  be  hard  to  prove  that  he  had. 

"  So  ye  didn't  get  on  to  the  track,  anyway  ?  "  he 
said  sarcastically,  hoping  to  learn  if  Blenkenstein  had 
been  more  successful  recently. 

"  No,"  said  Blenkenstein. 


O'Levin  Insinuates  221 

"But  ye've  done  so  since?"  O'Levin  now  forced 
his  question  direct. 

"  Well,"  said  Blenkenstein,  "  you'll  see  in  the  course 
of  time.  I  don't  know  that  it  would  be  quite  safe  to 
enter  into  all  details  with  a  man  who's  obviously  not 
on  my  side  in  what  I  imagined  was  a  straightforward, 
unprejudiced  wager." 

With  which  cut  at  O'Levin,  Blenkenstein  took  his 
departure.  He  had  to  go  up  to  town  on  some  rather 
important  business  connected  with  the  Imperial  Cities 
Exchange,  Limited,  and  was  not  sorry  for  the  obliga- 
tion. Absence  might  lend  an  enchantment  to  the  view 
of  him — in  Judith's  eyes — which  his  presence  did  not 
seem  to  do.  Moreover,  he  would  escape  those  imbecile 
rehearsals,  and  O'Levin's  impertinent  fooleries  at 
them. 

"  Yes,  I'm  afraid  I  shall  have  to  stop  the  night,  if 
not  two,"  he  said  to  Lady  Mallendon,  who  was  hos- 
pitably anxious  to  know  about  when  he  was  to  be 
expected  back.  "  I  doubt  if  I  shall  be  able  to  get  back 
to-morrow,  because  I  have  to  see  a  man  rather  late  in 
the  evening.  It's  a  nuisance,  because  I  should  be  free 
to  come  down  after  lunch,  otherwise;  and  one  doesn't 
want  to  kick  one's  heels  in  London  from  twelve  to 
eight." 

"  No,  of  course  not,"  said  Lady  Mallendon  sym- 
pathetically. "  I  do  wish  you  could  put  it  off.  But, 
if  you  can't,  and  really  have  nothing  to  do — but  I 
don't  know  that  I  ought  to  trouble  you " 

"  If  there's  anything  I  can  do,"  said  Blenkenstein, 
"  I  shall  be  happy,  you  know." 

"  Well,"  said  Lady  Mallendon,  upon  whom  the  cares 
of  the  forthcoming  entertainment  were  beginning  to 
tell,  "  it  is  very  kind  of  you,  and,  if  you  really  don't 


222  O'Levin  Insinuates 

mind,  it  would  be  of  the  greatest  assistance.  It's 
rather  a  delicate  matter.  At  least,  I  do  not  know  that 
it's  delicate,  but  it  might  be,  because  the  man  is  a 
Chinaman,  and  you  never  know — at  least,  I  don't  think 
I  should  ever  know — if  I  was  understanding  what  he 
said  to  me,  or  if  he  was  understanding  what  I  said  to 
him.  That  is  the  worst  of  pidgin  English,  which 
seems  to  me  a  great  mistake,  though  I  dare  say  it  helps 
people  in  China  to  understand,  more  or  less,  what  is 
meant,  and  is  better  than  simple  gesticulations.  Only 
I  don't  even  know  if  he  talks  pidgin  English,  and  that 
is  really  what  I  want  to  find  out  before  he  comes,  and 
also  what  he  would  like  to  eat,  while  he  is  here,  as 
the  servants  might  not  be  able  to  serve  it  up  at  a  mo- 
ment's notice,  and  then,  if  he  got  sulky  or  ill,  and 
couldn't  do  his  tricks — or  wouldn't — at  the  last  mo- 
ment, when  his  name  is  down  on  the  programme; 
rather  a  catch,  Jimmy  says,  as  he's  sure  to  be  good 
at  whatever  tricks  he  does,  and  I'm  sure  I  hope  none 
of  them  are  vulgar.  As  I  was  saying,  if  he  refused 
to  do  them,  it  would  be  so  very  awkward.  I  thought 
of  not  asking  him,  but  Jimmy  insisted,  and  said  that 
I  had  promised,  so  I  had  to." 

"Who  is  it?"  asked  Blenkenstein,  hoping  he  had 
not  let  himself  in  for  anything  very  troublesome. 

"  A  Chinese  conjurer.  A — a  friend,"  said  Lady 
Mallendon,  "  asked  me  to  employ  him,  as  he  is  so  very 
clever.  Chy  Bang  or  Kung  or  Ling.  I  really  forget 
which  his  name  is.  It's  quite  a  simple  one  for  a  China- 
man, and  I  suppose  it  would  be  sufficient  to  address 
him  as  Mr.  Bang,  or  whatever  it  is.  He  must  under- 
stand some  English,  don't  you  think,  if  he  has  been 
performing  at  a  music  hall?  He  may,  of  course,  be 
Prince  Bang,  for  all  one  knows,  but,  really,  if  a  man 


O'Levin  Insinuates  223 

does  tricks  at  a  music  hall,  he  cannot  mind  if  one  does 
not  realize  these  distinctions." 

"  You  want  me  to  find  out  if  he  understands 
English?" 

"  If  you  could,"  said  Lady  Mallendon.  "  I  wrote  to 
him  about  Saturday,  and  he  replied  in  quite  a  nice 
letter,  mentioning  his  terms  and  his  tricks  and  all  that 
quite  clearly;  but  then  he  may  have  got  some  one  to 
write  for  him.  I  can't  help  thinking  that  he  did, 
because  I  wrote  to  him  again,  saying  he  had  better 
come  down  by  the  9 130  on  Saturday,  so  that  he  could 
have  lunch  before  the  fete  begins,  and  his  letter,  which 
has  just  arrived,  is  so  full  of  blots  that  I  cannot  make 
head  or  tail  of  it.  It  may  be  that  he  shut  it  up  when 
it  was  wet;  or,  perhaps,  on  the  other  hand,  they  are 
not  blots  but  Chinese  characters,  which  he  assumes  that 
I  understand,  though  why  he  should  I  can't  think.  If 
Sir  Jasper  were  in,  I  could  consult  him  about  it,  but 
he's  gone  out  for  the  whole  day,  I  expect.  He  does 
so  dislike  all  these  preparations,  and  I  hardly  know 
whether  he  or  our  gardener  is  more  easily  upset  by 
them." 

"  Well,  I  don't  altogether  blame  them,"  said  Blen- 
kenstein  bluffly.  "  Charity  doesn't  pay,  you  know, 
when  one's  got  to  run  the  whole  affair.  Not  business, 
eh?  But  if  that's  all  you  want,  I  can  easily  enough 
find  out.  I'll  send  one  of  my  clerks  round  to  the  fel- 
low, if  you'll  give  me  his  address." 

"  Here  it  is,"  said  Lady  Mallendon,  handing  him  a 
slip  of  paper  with  the  address  on,  "  and  thank  you  so 
much.  If  your  clerk  could  ask  him  what  he  fancies? 
I  thought  fricassee  of  chicken  would  do,  if  the  chicken 
is  not  a  sacred  bird  in  China,  and,  of  course,  there 
will  be  heaps  of  things  to  choose  from  besides.  Only 


224  O'Levin  Insinuates 

Jimmy  said  that  they  would  only  eat  something  stran- 
gled, and  in  that  case  he  must  bring  it  with  him,  for 
I  cannot  expect  any  of  the  servants  to  strangle  any- 
thing, even  if  I  could  permit  it." 

Blenkenstein,  who  took  Jimmy's  humor  as  seriously 
as  did  Lady  Mallendon,  and  by  no  means  so  respect- 
fully, said  it  was  merely  another  case  of  Jimmy's 
ignorance,  and  soothed  Lady  Mallendon's  feelings  as 
hostess  at  the  expense  of  her  maternal  ones.  He  gave 
it  as  his  opinion  that  a  Chinaman  would  eat  anything, 
and  that  Lady  Mallendon  needn't  worry  about  him  in 
the  least. 

"  Well,  I  won't,  then,"  she  said.  "  Only,  as  we're 
going  to  charge  a  shilling  entrance  to  his  tent,  I  should 
like  him  to  be  at  his  best.  And  would  you  please  tell 
him  that  if  he's  going  to  bring  rabbits  out  of  hats, 
there  are  plenty  of  hats  here — Sir  Jasper  has  at  least 
twenty  of  his  own — but  he'd  better  use  his  own  rab- 
bits; and  I  should  prefer  him  not  to  bring  any  ser- 
pents, as  they  are  always  dangerous  when  they  escape, 
and  we  do  not  want  any  accidents." 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

COLONEL   GLEMMY   SUSPECTS   MR.    COPPENWELL 

THE  name  of  Colonel  Glemmy  has  not  hitherto  been 
mentioned  in  this  narrative,  for  the  reason  that 
hitherto  Colonel  Glemmy  has  not  been  of  any  impor- 
tance. But  since  Colonel  Glemmy  was,  unwittingly, 
to  be  of  assistance  to  Mr.  Faviel  a  couple  of  nights 
later,  and  enters  the  story  naturally  at  this  point,  a 
few  words  may  not  be  spent  on  him  in  vain. 

Important  in  his  own  sphere  Colonel  Glemmy  un- 
doubtedly was.  No  meager  part  of  the  county  be- 
longed to  him :  upon  his  nod  the  fate  of  many  humble 
people  depended. 

A  man  so  great  may  do  as  he  pleases,  and  it 
pleased  Colonel  Glemmy  to  look  after  his  property  in 
as  personal  a  manner  as  was  consistent  with  its  size, 
and  to  dress  as  an  under-gardener  while  so  employed. 
He  was  a  small  man  with  a  dignified  nose,  and  aris- 
tocratic-looking, it  might  be  said,  from  his  finger-tips 
to  the  cuffs  of  his  jacket.  There  the  under-gardener 
began.  Strangers  to  the  estate  often  mistook  his  rank, 
which  may  account  for  why  so  shrewd  a  young  man 
as  Mr.  Coppenwell  mistook  it  upon  the  day  on  which 
Mr.  Blenkenstein  went  up  to  town  and  Sir  Jasper  fled 
from  the  preparations  going  on  in  his  house  for  the 
fete  on  Saturday.  But  this  is  to  anticipate. 

Colonel  Glemmy's  mansion  was  situated  not  far 
from  The  Ashlands,  and  his  estate  comprised  that  dis- 

225 


226  Colonel  Glemmy  Suspects  Mr.  Coppenwell 

trict  of  wood  and  upland  heath  which  is  bounded  on 
the  north  by  Storton  Hill,  and  on  the  south  by  Hang- 
ing Coppice. 

From  his  mansion  to  that  southern  part  of  his  estate 
Colonel  Glemmy  set  forth  on  foot  after  breakfast  on 
Wednesday  morning.  He  had  returned  from  one  of 
our  Welsh  spas — one  of  those  places  where  rheu- 
matism can  be  cured  without  the  necessity  of  learning 
a  foreign  language — on  the  Monday  previous.  On  the 
Tuesday  he  had  been  through  matters  concerning  the 
estate  with  his  agent,  and  had  learnt,  not  without 
some  passing  indignation,  that  the  agent  had  let  the 
mill  at  Hanging  Coppice  for  three  months  to  a  retired 
sea-captain. 

"  Eh,  mill,  mill,  mill  ?  "  Colonel  Glemmy  had  said. 
"  Let  it  ?  Let  the  mill  ?  Let  the  mill  to  a  retired  sea- 
captain?  What?" 

The  agent  explained  that  a  fair  offer  had  been  made 
for  that  very  useless  structure,  and  that  there  was 
some  prospect,  if  the  sea-captain  cared  for  it,  and  the 
colonel  cared  to  grant  his  permission,  of  an  offer  being 
made  for  the  tenancy  of  the  mill  for  some  considerable 
period.  "  Of  course,  it's  out  of  repair  and  absolutely 
isolated.  Nobody,  I  imagine,  but  an  old  sailor  would 
dream  of  inhabiting  it,"  said  the  agent.  "  But  he  gave 
very  respectable  references — wanted  it  in  a  hurry — 
took  his  fancy  you  know — thought  the  view  from  it 
rather  like  the  sea — so  I  risked  letting  him  have  it  for 
three  months  without  bothering  you  about  it." 

"  Well,  well,"  said  Colonel  Glemmy.     ""Well." 

The  agent  had  presumed  upon  his  employer's  well- 
known  love  of  striking  a  bargain,  however  small,  in 
letting  the  mill;  and  probably  had  Mr.  Boke  been  a 
retired  sea-captain,  without  companions,  all  would 


Colonel  Glemmy  Suspects  Mr.  Coppenwell  227 

have  been  well.  Unfortunately,  Colonel  Glemmy's 
head  keeper,  whom  he  interviewed  after  his  agent,  had 
a  complaint  to  make. 

"What,  what?"  said  Colonel  Glemmy.  "Heard 
shots  at  Hanging  Coppice.  Shots  ?  " 

"  Yess'r.    Two  or  three  times." 

"What's  the  meaning  of  it?"  demanded  Colonel 
Glemmy. 

"  Why,  sir,"  said  the  keeper,  "  I  don't  go  and  say 
it  for  certain,  'cos,  though  we've  watched,  we  ain't 
been  able  to  detect  them ;  but  it's  my  opinion,  sir,  that 
those  sailors  as  have  got  the  old  mill  there  keep  a 
gun  between  them." 

"  Gun !  "  said  Colonel  Glemmy.  "  Sailors !  How 
many  sailors  ?  " 

"  Three  o'  them,  sir." 

"And  a  gun?    What?    One  gun?    What?" 

"  Not  more'n  one,  I  should  say,  sir." 

"  One  gun  and  three  sailors — ha !  "  said  Colonel 
Glemmy,  frowning.  "  Three  sailors — ha !  " 

Having  thus  fixed  the  estimated  number  of  the 
sailors  and  the  guns  securely  in  his  brain,  Colonel 
Glemmy  dismissed  his  keeper,  and  decided  to  look  the 
matter  up  in  person  on  the  following  day.  With 
Colonel  Glemmy,  as  with  a  good  many  people  whose 
iron  wills  would  be  invaluable  to  the  community  if 
only  these  wills  could  be  exercised  in  their  proper 
sphere,  to  decide  upon  a  thing  was  to  do  it;  and  at 
noon,  accordingly,  Colonel  Glemmy  found  himself  at 
the  end  of  the  road  which,  developing  at  this  point 
into  something  more  resembling  a  dry  river-bed  than 
a  highway,  leads  up  through  the  dense  woods  known 
as  Hanging  Coppice  to  the  mill  and  the  moorlands 
beyond.  The  agent  had  described  the  mill  as  abso- 


228  Colonel  Glemmy  Suspects  Mr.  Coppenwell 

lutely  isolated,  and  he  had  by  no  means  exaggerated. 
The  nearest  village  is  a  mile  and  a  half  away;  and  the 
nearest  cultivated  ground  not  much  nearer.  Wooded 
bits,  large  and  small,  spaced  with  shaggy  pasture  rising 
steeply,  block  this  off  on  the  one  hand;  and  on  the 
other,  heath  begins  almost  immediately,  and  extends 
in  plateau  shape  for  a  couple  of  miles  before  the  down- 
ward slope  towards  valley  land  assumes  any  apprecia- 
ble gradient.  The  heath  is  a  real  sandy  heath,  waist- 
deep  in  gorse,  and  in  the  summer-time  fiery  hot  across 
its  length  an<i  breadth. 

How  a  mill  ever  came  to  be  planted  amid  such  deso- 
lation is  the  question  that  occurs  to  any  stranger  pass- 
ing that  way,  but  it  is  not  a  question  that  requires 
to  be  answered  here.  It  is  sufficient  to  say  that  it  is 
a  high  and  solid  structure  standing  on  a  patch  of 
greensward  that  seems  to  have  been  leveled  out  of 
the  sloping  forest,  and  that  from  the  top  of  it  one  can 
see  thirty  miles  every  way.  It  may  be  as  well  to  add 
at  this  point,  since  it  points  to  the  picturesqueness  of 
the  building,  that  the  great  sails  were  still  affixed  to  it, 
though  they  had  been  furled,  so  to  speak,  for  many 
years;  and  (since  Mr.  Coppenwell,  who  is  about  to 
come  on  to  the  scene  in  a  few  minutes,  was  making 
for  it  at  this  time)  the  water  supply  is  derived  from 
a  pump  at  the  far  end  of  the  green  patch  on  which  the 
mill  stands.  From  this  well  bygone  millers  had  no 
doubt  drawn  sparkling  water  many  a  time  without 
asking  why  the  well  should  be  situated  at  the  farthest 
possible  distance  from  the  mill  itself.  Perhaps  a 
water-finder  had  determined  upon  the  spot. 

Colonel  Glemmy,  pausing  fb  wipe  his  heated  brow 
at  the  foot  of  the  fir-girt  path  that  leads  up  to  the 
mill,  was  surprised  to  hear  himself  greeted  by  some 


Colonel  Glemmy  Suspects  Mr.  Coppenwell  229 

one  who  had  paused  at  almost  the  same  spot,  and  was 
wiping  a  similarly  heated  brow  under  the  shade  of  one 
of  the  firs. 

"Hullo,  Glemmy!" 

"What,  Mallendon?"  said  the  colonel.  "  Mallen- 
don,  eh?  What  are  you  doing  here?  Camera. 
What?" 

Sir  Jasper  Mallendon,  for  he  it  was  who  had  risen 
from  under  the  fir,  certainly  bore  about  him  evidences 
of  the  photographer's  craft.  The  legs  of  his  standing 
implement  were  strapped  across  his  back;  a  large  box 
containing  the  body  of  the  camera  was  in  one  hand, 
a  camp-stool  was  in  the  other. 

'  Yes,  I've  just  come  up  to  photograph  your  wind- 
mill," he  confessed.  "  The  society  I  belong  to  is  try- 
ing to  get  county  landmarks,  and  it  struck  me  that 
the  mill  was  one  of  the  most  picturesque.  And  I  don't 
suppose,  either,  that  the  sails  '11  last  for  ever.  A  high 
wind  '11  bring  'em  down  one  of  these  days." 

"  And  you're  going  to  be  the  early  bird — get 
the  worm — get  the  worm?  Photograph  the  mill. 
What?" 

"  That's  it,"  said  Sir  Jasper. 

"  I'm  just  going  up  to  inspect  it  myself,"  said  Colo- 
nel Glemmy.  "  I  hear  my  agent's  let  it.  We'll  go  up 
together.  What  ?  " 

"  By  all  means,"  said  Sir  Jasper.  "  How's  your 
rheumatism,  Glemmy  ?  "  he  inquired  politely,  as  the 
colonel  began  to  toddle  up  the  hill  beside  him. 

"  Oh,  it's  better,  thankee.  These  baths  damned 
expensive,  but  they  make  you  better,"  said  the  colonel. 

"  Going  to  be  well  enough  to  come  over  to  our 
exhibition  on  Saturday?  For  a  charity,  you  know," 
said  Sir  Jasper. 


230  Colonel  Glemmy  Suspects  Mr.  Coppenwell 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know  about  that,"  said  the  colonel 
hastily.  "  Entrance  fee  ?  What?" 

"  A  shilling.    Goes  to  the  charity,  you  know." 

"  Well,  well,"  said  Colonel  Glemmy,  "  I  don't  know 
if  I  shall  be  well  enough  to  manage  it.  Shilling,  you 
say,  for  a  charity.  Charity,  what?  Greatest  of  these 
is  charity.  What?  Well,  well.  We  must  see  what 
we  can  do.  Spent  a  lot  of  money  on  that  cure.  Lot 
of  money— lot  of  money." 

Thus  amiably  conversing  the  two  old  gentlemen 
ascended  the  hill,  until  they  reached  the  place  at  which 
two  paths  branch  off  to  the  right. 

"  I'm  going  to  try  and  get  it,"  said  Sir  Jasper, 
"  from  the  heath  side.  The  trees  here  will  make  a 
good  background." 

"  Well,  that's  your  way,  then,"  said  Colonel 
Glemmy,  indicating  the  upper  path.  "If  you  happen 
to  see  any  one  about  who  looks  like  a  poacher,  you 
might  let  me  know.  I'm  going  to  work  round  from 
this  side.  Dare  say  I'll  find  you  at  the  top.  What?  " 

"  I  expect  I  shall  be  there  half  an  hour  at  least," 
said  Sir  Jasper. 

All  unconscious  of  his  fate,  Colonel  Glemmy  pur- 
sued the  lower  path,  which,  winding  still  among  firs 
for  fifty  yards  or  so,  brought  him  out  on  the  green 
patch  of  field  on  which  the  mill  stands,  and  close  to 
the  well  from  which  Mr.  Coppenwell  had  just  been 
drawing  water. 

Mr.  Coppenwell  was  not  drawing  water  at  the  mo- 
ment, but  stooping  amid  the  long  grass,  examining 
something  which  he  had  placed  or  found  there. 

"Ha!"  said  Colonel  Glemmy  to  himself,  "rabbit- 
wires — rabbit-wires — rabbit-wires,"  and  advanced  cau- 
tiously, intending  to  surprise  Mr.  Coppenwell  at  his 


Colonel  Glemmy  Suspects  Mr.  Coppenwell  231 

work.  Almost  as  he  framed  his  suspicions  to  himself, 
however,  Colonel  Glemmy's  foot  caught  in  something 
and  Colonel  Glemmy  came  to  the  ground  with  a  jerk. 

"  Damn — damn — damn !  "  said  Colonel  Glemmy,  in 
a  choke  of  anger,  and  Mr.  Coppenwell  became  aware 
of  his  presence. 

Now,  though  Mr.  Coppenwell  had  been  drawing 
water,  he  had  not  been  drinking  it.  Conscious  that 
they  had,  so  to  speak,  won  their  laurels,  and  needed 
only  to  sit  tight  for  a  few  days  more  with  their  pris- 
oner, both  he  and  Mr.  Boke,  and  the  third  man  of 
the  crew,  Bilks,  had  allowed  themselves  a  certain 
amount  of  license  in  the  matter  of  grog.  Mr.  Boke 
could  take  his  drink  without  doing  anything  but  in- 
creasing his  brain-power,  and  perhaps  adding  a  little 
to  his  imagination,  in  the  way,  for  example,  of  per- 
suading himself  that  he  really  was  a  retired  sea-cap- 
tain enjoying  his  rest  and  the  outlook  that  he  had 
informed  the  agent  was  like  the  sea.  He  actually  did 
enjoy  it  for  the  time  being.  Bilks,  who  had  been 
employed  to  lift  things  for  a  furniture  dealer  before 
he  entered  Mr.  Boke's  occasional  service,  had  no  im- 
agination, but,  on  the  other  hand,  no  amount  of  liquor 
left  any  impression  on  him  beyond  that  of  supreme 
content.  Mr.  Coppenwell  was  the  least  grog-proof  of 
the  three  and  also  the  least  contented.  He  had  begun 
to  weary  already  of  the  country  life  he  had  been 
leading.  A  cockney  by  birth,  he  had  begun  life  as 
a  newsboy,  and  had  drifted  into  the  hairdressing  pro- 
fession. A  too  great  familiarity  and  an  increasing 
habit  of  puffing  in  the  faces  of  his  employer's  clients, 
had  closed  to  him  any  chances  of  advancement  he 
might  otherwise  have  had  in  this  line  of  life;  and  after 
knocking  about  for  some  time  he  was  not  sorry  to 


232  Colonel  Glemmy  Suspects  Mr.  Coppenwell 

undertake  work  for  Mr.  Boke,  to  whom  the  young 
man's  easy  address  and  boundless  impudence  were  use- 
ful assets  when  he  was  engaged  in  making  investiga- 
tions among  the  poorer  classes.  Mr.  Coppenwell's 
sole  experience  of  country  life  hitherto  had  been  an 
occasional  week-end's  poaching,  and  it  was  he  who,  in 
spite  of  Mr.  Boke's  remonstrances,  had  done  a  little 
shooting  at  odd  times  and  at  odd  hours,  in  the  neigh- 
boring woods.  His,  too,  were  the  rabbit-wires,  in 
one  of  which  Colonel  Glemmy  had  just  caught  his 
foot. 

Having  been  drinking,  Mr.  Coppenwell  was  at  first 
inclined  to  regard  the  colonel's  struggles,  which  were 
certainly  calculated  to  break  the  wires,  with  some  in- 
dignation. His  natural  humor,  however,  overcame 
this  baser  instinct,  and  Mr.  Coppenwell  stood  and 
roared  with  laughter  for  a  full  minute.  The  humor 
was  in  its  turn  succeeded  by  a  humane  sentiment, 
which  led  Mr.  Coppenwell,  after  the  colonel  had  cried, 
"  Hi !  help ! "  several  times  and  had  become  almost 
speechless  with  indignation,  to  stroll  towards  his 
victim. 

"  'Old  up,  cocky,"  said  Mr.  Coppenwell,  as  he  drew 
closer. 

The  colonel,  who  had  risen  painfully  upon  one  knee, 
sank  into  a  sitting  posture.  He  hardly  liked  to  believe 
his  ears. 

"  What  did  you  say?  "  he  demanded,  with  a  dignity 
not  easily  distinguishable  from  anguish. 

"  'Old  up,  cocky,"  repeated  Mr.  Coppenwell  amia- 
bly. "  That's  wot  I  said.  'Old  up,  cocky,  and  don't 
you  go  to  pretend  as  you're  a  rabbit,  'cos  I  know 
better." 

"  You — you — you    impertinent    scoundrel !  "    said 


Colonel  Glemmy  Suspects  Mr.  Coppenwell  233 

Colonel  Glemmy.  "  Ah — h — h !  "  The  expression  of 
pain  was  drawn  from  him  as,  by  a  supreme  effort,  he 
got  to  his  feet.  "  Who  are  you,  you  poaching  rogue  ? 
Where  do  you  come  from — what  ?  "  He  gazed  upon 
Mr.  Coppenwell  with  an  awful  and  menacing  expres- 
sion that  would  have  quelled  a  more  sober  man.  But 
Mr.  Coppenwell  was  not  in  a  condition  to  be  im- 
pressed. 

"  What— pot— got— 'ot— rot— Scott !  "  said  Mr. 
Coppenwell,  with  a  rapid  rhyming  facility  that  drove 
Colonel  Glemmy  almost  crazy  with  wrath.  He  had 
never  been  mimicked  in  his  life,  and  his  pluck  was 
indubitable.  With  a  roar  of  anger,  and  a  plunge  that 
brought  away  the  wire  from  the  ground,  he  fell  upon 
Mr.  Coppenwell,  and  Mr.  Coppenwell  fell  to  the 
ground. 

Hurrying  out,  in  his  anxiety  to  learn  what  the  sound 
of  voices  might  betoken,  Mr.  Boke  found  the  two 
locked  in  deadly  strife  upon  the  ground. 

"  Drop  it,  Coppenwell,"  said  Mr.  Boke  angrily  and 
cloudily.  "  Now,  sir,"  as  he  pulled  the  colonel  to  his 
feet,  "  what's  all  this  about  ?  I  can't  have  people 
fighting  with  my  men  in  me  own  grounds,  so  to 
speak." 

"  Are  you  the  man  this  mill's  been  let  to  ?  "  de- 
manded Colonel  Glemmy. 

"  Cap'n  Bunbury,  at  your  service,"  said  Mr.  Boke ; 
proceeding  sentimentally,  "  Cap'n  Bunbury,  as  has 
flown  his  flag  on  many  a  stormy  sea,  and  dropped 
anchor  at  last  in  this  here  peaceful  haven." 

"  And  this  is  one  of  your  men,  is  it?  "  The  colonel 
crooked  a  finger  at  Mr.  Coppenwell. 

Mr.  Boke  nodded. 

"  Man  an'  boy,  he've  sailed  with  me,"  he  allowed. 


234  Colonel  Glemmy  Suspects  Mr.  Coppenwell 

"  First  in  the  cabin,  and  arterwards  as  coxun  o'  my 

gig." 

"  Very  well,"  said  Colonel  Glemmy.    "  Like  master, 

like  man,  ha !  The  most  rascally  poaching  fellow  I've 
ever  seen,  your  man.  I  give  you  notice,  both  of  you. 
D'ye  hear?  Ha — what?  Do  you  know  who  I  am? 
Colonel  Glemmy,  sir,  Colonel  Glemmy,  as  you'll  learn 
to  your  cost.  Oh,  I  know,"  added  the  colonel,  as  Mr. 
Boke  mildly  expostulated  at  the  severity  of  this  lan- 
guage, and  explained  the  nature  of  his  lease.  "  I  know 
that  fool  of  an  agent  of  mine  gave  you  the  place  for 
three  months,  and  you're  within  your  rights  if  you 
stop  here.  But  there's  been  shooting  heard.  My  men 
have  heard  guns — what? — guns.  You've  been  poach- 
ing, the  lot  of  you,  poaching — poaching.  And  I  tell 
you  what,  my  man,  captain  or  no  captain,  I'm  going 
to  have  a  watch  set,  watch  set — set;  and  if  one  o' 
you  is  seen  about  with  a  gun,  till  you  go,  till  the  day 
you  go — what? — off  you'll  pack  to  jail — jail — jail — 
mark  my  words — jail — jail." 

And  without  further  parley,  which  his  scarcity  of 
breath  would,  in  any  case,  have  rendered  one-sided, 
Colonel  Glemmy  limped  off  the  field,  snorting  indig- 
nation. 

"  What  do  you  want  to  go  and  be  such  a  soft  fool 
for  as  to  quarrel  with  'im?"  said  Mr.  Boke  to  his 
assistant,  as  he  watched  the  colonel  fading  in  the 
distance. 

'  'E  went  for  me  fust,"  said  Mr.  Coppenwell  sulkily, 
"  like  a  bloomin'  little  tiger." 

"Well,  you  needn't  ha'  hit  'im  back,"  said  Mr. 
Boke.  "  He's  the  boss  round  here.  We  shan't  have 
any  peace  now.  Mind  you  don't  go  out  with  your 
gun,  Cop,  or  we  shall  be  done  yet." 


Colonel  Glemmy  Suspects  Mr.  Coppenwell  235 

"  I'd  like  to  gun  him,"  said  Mr.  Coppenwell. 
"  Where's  that  dam  water  Hi  was  fetching  ?  Let's  go 
and  'ave  a  drink." 

"  Well,  I  hope  we  shan't  have  any  one  else  up  afore 
Sunday,"  said  Boke,  as  they  re-entered  the  mill.  "  A 
colonel  to-day,  a  copper  yesterday — it's  too  thick." 
He  alluded  to  the  fact  that  Police-Constable  Bigstock, 
in  pursuance  of  his  plan  to  acquaint  Mr.  Boke  with 
the  fact  that  his  wardrobe  had  been  discovered,  had 
come  up  to  the  mill  on  the  previous  day,  though  with- 
out gaining  any  particular  information  or  receiving 
many  thanks.  "  We  don't  want  no  more.  Is  he  all 
right,  Bilks?  "  he  added  to  the  thick-set  man  who  had 
been  guarding  the  mill  in  his  absence. 

"'E's  all  right,"  said  Bilks.  "I  only  just  left 
him." 

"  Port'ole  open  ?  " 

"  I  dunno." 

"  You  should  ha'  seen  to  it,"  said  Mr.  Boke 
severely. 

"  He  ain't  likely  to  go  and  throw  hisself  down  fifty 
feet,"  said  Bilks  contentedly. 

"  No,  but  he  might  'ave  shouted,"  said  Mr.  Boke. 
"  Not  that  he  can  afford  to  give  hisself  away  to  just 
any  one  any  more  than  we  can  afford  to  give  him 
away." 

Mr.  Faviel,  a  prisoner  in  the  top  floor  of  the  mill, 
had  not  shouted  through  the  loophole  facing  heath- 
ward,  which  was  the  sole  opening  in  the  hot  attic  room 
where  he  had  spent  his  time,  since  Mr.  Boke  had 
brought  off  his  coup  on  Sunday  in  the  very  glade 
which  Faviel  had  appointed  for  his  tryst  with  Judith. 

Nor  had  Faviel  thrown  himself  out,  though  he  had 
measured  the  distance  to  the  ground  once  or  twice  with 


236  Colonel  Glemmy  Suspects  Mr.  Coppenwell 

that  object  in  view.     It  was  too  formidable  a  drop  to 
be  tried,  except  in  the  very  last  resort. 

But  he  had  stood  at  the  loophole  for  some  con- 
siderable time  with  his  head  out,  glad  to  drink  in  all 
the  air  he  could.  And  this  proceeding,  little  as  he  or 
any  one  might  have  expected  it,  brought  about  a 
change  of  circumstances  which  must  await  their  rela- 
tion till  the  following  chapter. 


CHAPTER  XXIX 
SIR  JASPER'S  PHOTOGRAPH 

"  How  beautiful !  "  said  Miss  Finch. 

"  It  is  indeed  a  triumph  of  the  photographic  art," 
said  Mr.  Wormyer,  who  was  standing  at  the  back  of 
her  chair  in  his  shepherd's  costume. 

"  Grand  effect,  grand  effect,"  said  Mr.  Bayford,  to 
whom  the  object  of  admiration  had  just  been  passed. 

"  Well,  it's  only  a  negative,  of  course,"  said  Sir 
Jasper  modestly.  "  But  I  think  it  ought  to  turn  out 
pretty  good." 

"  Turneresque,"  said  Mr.  Bayford,  "  Turneresque." 

"  What  are  they  all  patting  you  on  the  back  for, 
Sir  J.  ?  "  asked  Jimmy,  lounging  up  with  his  friend 
Butt. 

"  A  picture  of  the  mill  at  Hanging  Coppice,"  said 
Sir  Jasper.  "  I  took  it  when  I  was  up  there  with 
Colonel  Glemmy  the  other  day.  He's  let  the  mill  to 
a  couple  of  men  whom  he  now  suspects  to  be  poachers. 
Hope  they  won't  damage  it  while  they're  there.  It's 
picturesquely  situated,  and  a  big  solid  mill  over  a 
hundred  years  old,  I  dare  say.  The  view  from  the 
top  must  be  very  fine." 

"  Why,  that's  the  mill  Butt  and  I  were  going  over 
to  inspect,"  said  Jimmy,  who  had  secured  the  negative 
and  was  examining  it.  "  The  man  there,  you  know, 
is  the  chap  who  bought  that  wardrobe  which  strayed 
here  with  the  horse  and  cart.  Poacher,  is  he  ?  " 

237 


238  Sir  Jasper's  Photograph 

"  So  Colonel  Glemmy  maintains." 

"  Hullo,"  said  Jimmy,  "  did  you  see  that  face  at 
the  window  when  you  were  taking  it  ?  "  He  handed 
the  negative  to  his  father,  pointing  to  where  something 
certainly  resembling  a  head  appeared  at  the  little  top 
window  of  the  mill. 

"  Curious,"  said  Sir  Jasper,  examining  his  handi- 
work again.  "  No,  I  certainly  didn't  notice  any  one 
there  while  I  was  taking  it.  And  from  what  Glemmy 
gave  me  to  understand  both  the  men  were  out  in  the 
field  talking  to  him.  In  fact  he  went  for  one  of  them. 
There  must  be  a  third." 

"  I  shouldn't  wonder,"  said  Jimmy  solemnly,  "  if 
that's  the  chap  that  old  constable  was  talking  about, 
who  vanished  in  Waybury  the  same  time  as  the  ward- 
robe. I  vote  we  go  up  and  inspect  the  mill  to-night." 

"  My  dear  Jimmy,"  said  Lady  Mallendon,  who  was 
one  of  the  group  on  the  lawn.  "  It's  quite  impossible. 
It'll  be  quite  dark.  And  if  the  men  are  poachers, 
I  don't  know  why  you  should  want  to  interfere  with 
them " 

"  There's  going  to  be  a  moon  to-night,"  said  Jimmy. 
"  The  view'll  be  jolly  fine  by  moonlight.  Sir  J.  said 
it  would." 

"  I  didn't  say  by  moonlight,"  objected  Sir  Jasper. 

"  And,  in  any  case,  everybody  ought  to  go  to  bed 
early  to-night,  so  as  to  be  refreshed  for  the  acting 
to-morrow.  Don't  you  think  they  ought,  Mr. 
O'Levin  ?  "  Lady  Mallendon  appealed  to  the  stage 
manager,  who  had  just  come  up,  his  labors  all  but 
over.  The  last  rehearsal  had  just  come  to  an  end,  and 
O'Levin  had  expressed  himself  satisfied  with  the  ef- 
forts of  the  company.  There  had  been  an  all-round 
improvement,  and,  as  O'Levin  had  confided  to  Miss 


Sir  Jasper's  Photograph  239 

Etta  Warley,  if  only  the  hero  could  be  left  out  at  the 
actual  performance — as  he  had  been  that  day  and  the 
day  previous  (Blenkenstein  was  still  up  in  town), — 
and  the  play  altered  entirely,  the  audience  would  have 
nothing  to  complain  of. 

When,  therefore,  Lady  Mallendon  appealed  to 
O'Levin  to  exercise  his  authority  and  bar  the  moon- 
light visit  to  the  mill,  she  found  herself  very  luke- 
warmly supported. 

"  If  they  enjoy  themselves,"  said  O'Levin,  "  it'll 
brisk  them  up.  They'll  be  all  the  livelier  to-morrow. 
What  does  the  troupe  itself  say  to  Jimmy's  proposi- 
tion?" 

To  Miss  Finch  and  Mr.  Wormyer  the  idea  of  an 
expedition  by  moonlight  was  all  that  was  delightful. 
Other  members  of  the  company  also  approved.  Etta, 
who  was  to  stop  the  night  at  The  Ashlands,  was 
entranced  by  it,  when  she  was  sought  out  and  appealed 
to.  Judith  would  in  any  case  have  assented  to  the 
appeals  of  Jimmy  and  Butt  Lady  Mallendon  found 
herself,  in  fact,  in  a  sad  minority. 

"  We  could  drive  over  after  dinner,"  said  Sir  Jasper, 
"  and  have  an  extra  wagonette  from  the  inn.  Of 
course  I  can't  promise  a  view  from  the  top,  because 
the  people  are  in  it,  you  see." 

"  That  doesn't  matter,"  said  Etta.  "  The  drive  itself 
will  be  so  lovely." 

"  And  the  woods  dreaming  in  the  moon,"  mur- 
mured Miss  Finch. 

"  Upon  my  word,"  said  Mr.  Bayford  boldly,  "  I  am 
very  strongly  tempted  to  join  the  gay  throng,  if  I 
may.  Very  strongly  tempted." 

"  Do,"  said  Sir  Jasper  hospitably. 

"  Wormyer  and  I  shall  add  that  seasoning  of  cau- 


240  Sir  Jasper's  Photograph 

tion  to  the  dish  of  hilarity,  which  will  cause  it  to 
assume  favor  in  Lady  Mallendon's  eyes,  eh,  Worm- 
yer?  "  said  Mr.  Bay  ford  gaily.  "  No,  thank  you,  Sir 
Jasper,  I  will  not  stay  to  dinner — very  many  thanks. 
Wormyer  and  I  will  come  up  and  join  you  when  you 
are  ready  to  start.  Come,  Wormyer,  there  is  a 
mothers'  meeting  at  6:5,  if  I  remember  right.  Duty, 
duty,  Wormyer." 

The  curate  was  borne  off,  not  over  grateful  to  his 
rector,  after  the  hour  of  8:30  had  been  fixed  on  for 
the  start. 

"  It'll  be  a  good  hour's  drive,"  said  Sir  Jasper. 
"  And  we  shall  all  have  to  walk  up  the  hill  through 
the  woods.  So  we  mustn't  start  later  than  that." 

"  What  about  Mr.  Blenkenstein  ? "  said  Lady 
Mallendon. 

"  He'll  get  down  by  the  seven  train  at  Waybury,  so 
he  ought  to  be  here  in  time.  If  he  isn't,"  said  Sir 
Jasper,  who  easily  put  up  with  the  deprivation  of 
Blenkenstein's  company,  "  you'll  have  to  talk  Wes- 
tralians  with  him  till  we  come  back." 

As  it  happened,  Blenkenstein  did  get  in  a  little  late 
for  dinner,  but  in  time  enough  for  the  expedition,  if 
he  cared  for  it.  That  he  did  not  care  for  it  in  the 
least  was  natural  enough.  It  alarmed  him  horribly. 
He  tried  to  assure  himself  that  he  need  not  be  alarmed, 
but  for  the  first  few  minutes  his  alarm  only  grew. 
He  realized  that  if  by  some  accident  Faviel's  pres- 
ence were  discovered,  all  his  splendid  planning  would 
go  for  nothing.  Its  splendor  depended  wholly  on 
its  success.  He  had  not  even  given  Faviel  the  letter 
as  yet — had  not  made  sure  of  the  £10,000.  He 
was  still  willing  to  lose  that  if  the  other  achieve- 
ment were  granted  him.  But  the  winning  of  Judith 


Sir  Jasper's  Photograph  241 

depended,  he  felt,  upon  his  appearing  in  the  role 
of  the  successful  man,  Faviel  being  shown  to  be  the 
fool.  If  Faviel  somehow  got  away,  he  would  not 
appear  a  fool.  On  the  contrary  he  would  be  able  to 
show  up  Blenkenstein  in  a  ridiculous — not  to  say  un- 
generous— light.  And  that  before  Judith  had  given 
him — Blenkenstein — her  answer.  Faviel  must  not  get 
away — even  if  he  had  to  be  knocked  on  the  head  to 
prevent  it.  Blenkenstein's  thoughts  took  that  ugly 
path  with  reluctance.  He  had  no  wish  to  knock  any 
one  on  the  head.  That  sort  of  sin  more  than  any 
other  had  a  sure  way  of  finding  you  out — with  very 
unpleasant  results.  Of  course  he  need  not  have  any- 
thing to  do  with  it  personally.  There  were  always 
other  people  who  would  not  mind  taking  the  risks 
for  a  consideration,  and  nobody  need  ever  know  who 
offered  the  consideration.  Blenkenstein  always  had 
managed  to  keep  secret  the  things  that  publication 
would  give  an  unpleasant  color  to,  and  he  did  not 
see  now  why  if  Faviel  disappeared  for  good,  anybody 
need  be  able  to  charge  it  to  his  rival.  After  all,  the 
fellow  had  undertaken  to  disappear.  Plenty  of  peo- 
ple have  disappeared  for  good  and — meaning  to 

Suppose  the  thing  had  to  be  done,  who  would 
undertake  it?  Blenkenstein  did  not  feel  quite  sure 
about  Boke.  Boke  was  the  sort  of  rogue  who  has 
scruples,  and  is  rather  proud  of  them.  A  useful  man 
in  many  cases,  because  he  can  be  trusted  by  his  em- 
ployer: useless  in  others,  because  he  is  unemployable. 
No,  Boke  would  not  do.  But  that  young  Coppen- 
well? 

Blenkenstein  switched  his  thoughts  back  to  the  im- 
mediate thought  of  the  excursion  with  some  trouble. 
It  was  a  less  anxious  matter  than  the  one  it  had  led 


242  Sir  Jasper's  Photograph 

on  to;  but  it  was  an  anxious  matter  too;  and  it  was 
only  with  difficulty  that  he  refrained  from  showing 
his  anxiety  about  it.  If  there  had  been  the  smallest 
chance  of  giving  Mr.  Boke  warning,  he  would  have 
done  so,  and  kept  away,  leaving  the  rest  to  his  agent 
to  manage.  But  there  was  no  chance  whatever,  and 
Blenkenstein,  after  pooh-poohing  the  notion  until  Sir 
Jasper  almost  became  testy,  had  to  decide  whether  he 
would  accompany  the  others  or  remain  behind. 

It  seemed  best,  on  the  whole,  to  go  with  them.  He 
might  get  an  opportunity  of  conveying  to  Boke  some 
idea  of  what  was  up  at  least  a  minute  or  two  before- 
hand: and  even  if  he  could  not,  Boke,  he  imagined, 
would  not  be  such  a  fool  as  to  admit  the  party  into 
the  mill.  There  would  be  no  danger  of  suspicion 
attaching  to  himself  in  any  case;  and  no  one,  so  far 
as  he  had  been  able  to  make  out,  had  guessed  for  a 
moment  who  the  face  at  the  mill-window  in  Sir  Jas- 
per's picture  belonged  to.  Why,  indeed,  should  any 
one? 

Moreover,  it  would  not  look  well  if  he  stood  out  of 
the  party,  when  Judith  was  going.  Moonlight  nights 
were  things  lovers  were  supposed  to  look  forward  to. 
It  was  just  possible  that  she  was  looking  forward  to 
it,  and  would  give  him  an  opening.  Yes,  decidedly  he 
would  go.  But  he  would  take  with  him  the  letter 
which  in  the  last  resort  had  to  be  handed  to  Faviel. 
It  might  become  necessary  to  deliver  it,  and  it  was 
certainly  well  to  be  prepared. 

At  8 130  accordingly  he  joined  the  party  of  twenty- 
three,  all  told,  which,  in  various  degrees  of  high  spirits, 
stormed  the  landau,  the  two  wagonettes  and  the  gov- 
erness cart,  which  were  ranged  in  the  front  drive, 
ready  for  the  journey.  It  had  been  agreed,  on 


Sir  Jasper's  Photograph  243 

O'Levin's  suggestion,  that  it  would  be  more  sporting 
not  to  arrange  carriage  loads,  but  to  have  a  general 
scramble,  after  the  manner  of  a  cotillon,  for  who 
should  drive  together,  a  happy  suggestion,  which  had, 
however,  the  result  of  leaving  Mr.  Bayford — who  had 
playfully  entered  into  the  spirit  of  the  thing,  and 
made  a  rollicking  sprint  for  the  governess  cart — alone 
in  that  vehicle. 

"Plenty  of  room  here,  Miss  Warley:  plenty  of 
room,  Miss  Finch.  Wormyer,  I  have  reserved  a  place 
for  you — reserved  a  place,"  said  Mr.  Bayford,  rather 
pleased  at  first  with  the  sagacity  that  had  enabled  him 
to  have  seats  at  his  disposal.  "  Ah,  sheep,  sheep,"  he 
continued,  somewhat  pettishly,  as  Etta  failed  to  hear 
him  and  Mr.  Wormyer  clung  defiantly,  and  with  great 
tenacity,  to  the  step  of  the  wagonette,  in  which  Miss 
Finch  had  gained  a  corner  seat — "  all  rushing  for  the 
same  spot — the  same  spot !  " 

The  situation  was  saved  by  Sir  Jasper  good- 
naturedly  joining  him  in  the  governess  cart  with  Ju- 
dith, whereupon  Blenkenstein  followed. 

"  Ha!  "  said  Mr.  Bayford,  well  pleased,  "  forward 
we  go — the  brightest  and  the  best " 

"  Wait !  "  cried  Lady  Mallendon,  hurrying  down 
the  steps,  "  where  is  Augustus  ?  " 

Butt,  perched  on  the  outside  of  the  box-seat,  be- 
tween Jimmy  and  the  driver  of  the  wagonette  from 
the  inn,  had  the  indignity  of  having  a  Shetland  shawl 
pressed  upon  him,  with  instructions  to  keep  it  round 
his  mouth  on  the  way  back. 

He  thanked  Lady  Mallendon  in  a  muffled  voice 
which  suggested  that  the  shawl  was  already  affixed, 
and  the  cavalcade  started. 

It  is  not  necessary  to  describe  the  drive,  which  was, 


244  Sif  Jasper's  Photograph 

like  many  others  through  English  moonlit  lanes,  full 
of  night-scented  flowers  and  the  noise  of  night-jars 
and  rabbits  scudding  for  their  burrows  in  the  darkling 
hedgerows.  No  contretemps  occurred  except  in  the 
case  of  Butt,  who — upon  Jimmy  persuading  the  inn- 
keeper to  intrust  him  with  the  reins,  and  the  horses 
breaking  as  a  consequence  into  an  unexpected  gallop 
— fell  off  the  outside  edge  of  the  box-seat  into  a  ditch, 
amid  the  cries  of  ladies,  but  was  picked  up  uninjured. 
Jimmy  was  therefore  deposed  from  the  reins  in  spite 
of  his  argument  that  it  was  not  his  fault  the  horses 
started  off,  but  O'Levin's,  who,  in  trying  to  imitate 
a  night-jar  on  his  flute,  had  startled  them. 

"  Out  upon  ye,  Jimmy !  "  said  O'Levin.  "  'Twas 
Philomela  I  was  calling  to,  and  if  ye  listen  carefully, 
ye  can  hear  the  sweet  bird  responding " 

"  Owls !  "  said  Jimmy. 

Miss  Finch  besought  O'Levin  to  insist  upon  Butt's 
being  brought  into  the  body  of  the  wagonette,  but 
O'Levin  thought  he  would  be  safer  and  certainly  more 
conveniently  placed — so  far  as  other  people  were  con- 
cerned— between  Jimmy  and  the  driver. 

"  He  will  dry  quicker  there — like  the  ham  in  the 
sandwich " 

"  Well,  you'll  hold  on,  Jimmy,  won't  you?  "  pleaded 
Miss  Finch. 

"  I  won't  fall  off,"  said  Jimmy  agreeably. 

"  You  would  if  I  drove,"  grunted  Butt. 

"  Everybody  would,"  said  Jimmy. 

Butt  clambered  up  into  the  middle  place,  after 
having  shaken  himself  at  the  suggestion  of  the  driver, 
and  in  due  time  the  four  vehicles  arrived  at  that  break 
in  the  road  among  the  fir-trees  where  Sir  Jasper  had 
encountered  Colonel  Glemmy  two  days  before. 


CHAPTER  XXX 

MOONLIGHT   AT   THE   MILL 

"  WE'VE  got  to  walk  from  here,"  announced  Sir 
Jasper. 

The  governess  cart  had  arrived  slightly  ahead  of 
the  others,  and,  rather  to  Sir  Jasper's  surprise  and 
gratification,  Blenkenstein — who  was  not  in  the  habit 
of  putting  himself  out  for  other  people — had  offered 
to  go  ahead  up  the  hill  and  try  and  obtain  permission 
from  the  mill's  tenant  for  the  party  to  go  up  to  the 
top  of  the  mill  and  see  the  view  from  there. 

"  I  don't  suppose,"  said  Blenkenstein,  who  knew  that 
the  permission  was  going  to  be  asked  anyhow,  and 
saw  an  opportunity  for  himself  in  constituting  himself 
the  mouthpiece  of  the  party — "  I  don't  suppose,  you 
know,  that  he'll  let  us  go  up,  as  the  place  is  inhabited. 
Probably  gone  to  bed  by  now.  But  I'll  go  ahead  and 
see.  I  can  get  up  quicker  than  some  of  the  ladies, 
and  be  able  to  tell  you  whether  or  no,  when  you  all 
get  to  the  top." 

"  I  don't  see  why  you  should  go  up  by  yourself," 
said  Sir  Jasper,  supposing  that  Judith's  company 
through  the  wooded  walk  would  not  be  unpleasant  to 
Blenkenstein. 

"  I'll  go,  too,"  said  Judith,  also  gratified  by  what 
she  conceived  to  be  Blenkenstein's  unselfishness. 

"  And  I,"  said  Mr.  Bayford,  "  will  accompany  you. 
A  tertium  quid — ha — a  tertium  quid " 

845 


246  Moonlight  at  the  Mill 

"  You'll  never  keep  up,  Bayford.  Better  wait,"  said 
Sir  Jasper  tactfully. 

"  Oh,  I  am  a  grand  walker,  grand  walker,"  said 
Mr.  Bayford.  "Forward " 

And  forward,  obviously  to  Blenkenstein's  annoy- 
ance and  secretly  to  Judith's  relief,  Mr.  Bayford  went, 
in  their  company,  chatting  to  his  own  refrains  as  they 
went.  The  air  was  so  still  in  those  thick  woods  that 
Mr.  Bayford's  voice  filled  it  like  an  organ ;  and  nothing 
else  was  audible  at  all  until  they  came  to  the  branching 
paths,  of  which  Mr.  Bayford,  who  had  visited  the  mill 
two  or  three  times  before  in  bygone  years,  selected 
the  lower.  As  they  entered  this,  the  noise  of  a  shot 
at  no  great  distance  among  the  trees  broke  up  one  of 
Mr.  Bayford's  reminiscences. 

"  Who  can  that  be?  "  said  Judith. 

"Why,  I  am  afraid,"  said  Mr.  Bayford—"!  am 
very  much  afraid  that  that  must  be  a  poacher.  How 
sad  when  a  man  takes  to  poaching !  The  unregulated 
mind  that  can  so  offend  against  our  reasonable  game- 
laws — of  what  is  it  not  capable?  It  argues  the  bird 
is  wild — the  bird  is  wild.  It  does  not  reflect  that  the 
bird  has  in  many  cases  been  expensively  reared  by 
hand.  No — the  bird  is  wild — '  it  is  as  much  mine  as 
others'.'  So  the  poacher  argues.  But  the  time  comes 
when  the  mere  wildness  of  the  bird  is  nothing  to  him. 
He  descends  upon  a  poultry-yard.  Some  valuable 
turkey  is  seized  and  thrust  into  his  bag.  He  spends 
the  proceeds  on  drink — our  national  vice.  In  a 
drunken  bout,  he  attacks  his  wife — his  own  wife — and 
beats  his  children,  bone  of  his  bone.  Then,  indeed,  the 
end  is  in  sight,"  said  Mr.  Bayford  affectingly — "  the 
end  is  in  sight." 

This  brief  disquisition  upon  the  decline  and  fall 


Moonlight  at  the  Mill  247 

of  the  poacher  was  succeeded  by  a  remark  from 
Judith : 

"  My  uncle  was  saying  that  Colonel  Glemmy  sus- 
pected the  men  here  of  poaching." 

"  It's  easy  enough  to  suspect  a  man,"  said  Blenken- 
stein,  rather  impatiently,  "  but  I  dare  say  it's  a 
mere  suspicion.  The  men  here  may  be  very  respect- 
able." 

"  Of  course,"  said  Judith. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  Mr.  Boke  was  standing  at  that 
moment  outside  the  mill,  invoking  anathemas  upon 
the  name  of  Coppenwell.  That  young  man,  weary  of 
the  mill's  dull  routine,  had,  in  the  teeth  of  orders, 
gone  out  with  his  gun,  leaving  Bilks  and  Mr.  Boke 
to  guard  their  prisoner.  The  warning  that  Colonel 
Glemmy  was  likely  to  have  stuck  to  his  threat,  and 
had  a  watch  kept  on  the  woods,  fell  upon  unheeding 
ears.  Mr.  Coppenwell,  made  impudent  above  his  wont 
with  high  feeding  and  rum,  vowed  that  he  didn't  care 
a  tinker's  damn  for  Colonel  Glemmy,  and  he  only 
wished  he  could  meet  the  little  tiger — he'd  shoot  him 
like  a  rabbit.  He  had  been  gone  about  half-an-hour 
before  his  first  shot  was  heard,  and  Mr.  Boke  was 
walking  up  and  down  outside  the  mill  in  a  considera- 
ble anxiety. 

This  was  by  no  means  diminished  by  the  sudden 
advance  upon  him  of  Judith,  Mr.  Bayford,  and  Blen- 
kenstein.  For  a  moment,  and  before  he  recognized 
Blenkenstein,  Mr.  Boke  feared  that  this  was  some 
hostile  party,  come  to  redeem  his  prisoner,  and  he  was 
prepared  to  set  his  back  against  the  mill,  and  defend 
it  against  all  comers. 

Mr.  Bayford,  who  took  it  upon  himself  to  conduct 
negotiations,  undeceived  him. 


248  Moonlight  at  the  Mill 

"  Good-evening,  good-evening,"  said  Mr.  Bayford. 
"  I  believe  I  address  myself  to  the  tenant  of  the  wind- 
mill. Captain  Bunbury,  is  it  not?" 

"  That's  it,"  said  Mr.  Boke. 

"  I  trust,  Captain  Bunbury,"  said  Mr.  Bayford, 
"  that  you  will  pardon,  in  the  first  place,  our  intrusion. 
We  are  from  The  Ashlands;  heralds,  I  may  say,  of 
a  large  party — of  a  very  considerable  party." 

"  Are  you  ?  "  said  Mr.  Boke. 

"  All  anxious,"  said  Mr.  Bayford,  "  to  view  this 
splendid  scene  by  moonlight.  We  understood  that 
the  view  from  the  top  of  the  mill  itself  is  something 
quite  out  of  the  common;  and,  indeed,  it  is  to  ask  if 
you  will  grant  us  the  favor  of  allowing  us  to  ascend 
to  that  vantage  point  to-night  that  I  have  come  ahead, 
at  the  request  of  Sir  Jasper  Mallendon.  We  ought, 
of  course,"  added  Mr.  Bayford,  "  to  have  asked  per- 
mission in  the  first  place,  and  arrived  in  the  second; 
but  the  expedition  is,  I  may  say,  the  result  of  a  sudden 
inspiration,  a  proposal  on  the  spur  of  the  moment, 
which  the  ladies  of  the  party  could  not  resist  acting 
upon." 

"  And  they're  coming  up  here,  are  they,  to  have 
a  look  from  the  top  of  the  mill?"  said  Mr.  Boke, 
pondering.  He  had  recognized  Blenkenstein,  and  seen 
his  frown  and  shake  of  the  head. 

"  With  your  permission,"  said  Mr.  Bayford. 

"  Well,"  said  Mr.  Boke,  "  I  should  have  been  glad 
to  give  it,  if  I  could.  I  can't " 

"  Dear,  dear,"  said  Mr.  Bayford  sorrowfully. 

"  The  reason  being,"  said  Mr.  Boke,  with  a  side- 
long glance  at  Blenkenstein,  to  see  if  he  approved  the 
line  of  argument,  "  that  my  man's  brother,  who's  been 
ill,  is  up  there  asleep.  I  had  him  down,  poor  chap,  to 


Moonlight  at  the  Mill  249 

give  him  a  chance  o'  recovery  in  the  air  up  here,  and 
there  he  is  asleep." 

"  A  kindly  thought,"  said  Mr.  Bayford,  obviously 
disappointed.  "  I  suppose — er " 

"  You  see,  he'd  get  waked  if  you  went  up,"  said 
Mr.  Boke.  "  It  wouldn't  do  at  all.  He's  been  bad — 
he's  bad  still.  Besides,  the  ladies " 

"  Oh,  quite  so,"  said  Mr.  Bayford,  "  quite  so — quite 
so — quite  impossible — quite.  I  am  afraid  there  is 
nothing  to  be  done,  then,  but  to  tell  our  friends  that 
they  must  resign  themselves  to  such  views  as  they 
can  get  without  going  up.  I  see  they  are  already 
arriving." 

Mr.  Boke  saw  it,  too,  and  the  numbers  alarmed 
him.  Suppose  his  prisoner  began  shouting.  It  wasn't 
likely  that  he  would,  but  he  might.  His  time  was 
getting  pretty  close;  and,  from  what  Mr.  Boke  had 
observed,  he  was  beginning  to  feel  fairly  desperate. 
There  was  only  Bilks  on  guard,  thanks  to  Coppen- 
well's  disobedience.  Or,  suppose  Coppenwell  turned 
up  in  the  middle  of  them. 

"  I  tell  you  what,"  said  Mr.  Boke,  in  his  anxiety 
to  get  this  crowd  of  people  away  from  the  immediate 
neighborhood  of  the  mill.  "  There's  a  fine  view  to 
be  got  to  the  left  here.  I'll  put  you  on  the  way  to  it, 
if  you  like." 

"  Thank  you,  thank  you,"  said  Mr.  Bayford,  and 
explained  to  Sir  Jasper  and  the  others,  who  had  now 
come  up,  what  the  mill's  tenant  had  proposed.  It 
seemed  so  well-intentioned  and  reasonable  that  Sir 
Jasper  thought  they  could  not  do  better  than  accept 
Captain  Bunbury's  offer  to  guide  them  to  the  point  of 
outlook  on  the  right. 

"  Facing  south,  I  suppose?  "  he  asked. 


250  Moonlight  at  the  Mill 

"  Southeast  by  south,"  said  Mr.  Boke.  "  This  way, 
if  you  please."  He  dived  into  a  woody  park,  leading 
away  from  the  mill,  and  the  Ashlands  party  followed 
him — or  perhaps  it  would  be  more  correct  to  say  that 
about  half  the  Ashlands  party  followed  him.  The 
others,  including  Judith  and  Miss  Finch,  Jimmy  and 
Butt,  preferred  to  wander  about  by  themselves;  and 
the  direction  which  the  latter  pair  took  was  towards 
the  mill. 

Jimmy  had  not  gathered  what  reasons  Captain  Bun- 
bury  had  given  for  refusing  entrance,  nor  would  he 
have  been  disposed  to  accept  them  without  test,  even 
if  he  had.  For  his  theory — that  something  shady,  if 
not  the  young  man  who  ought  to  have  been  in  the 
wardrobe,  but  wasn't,  then  somebody  or  something, 
was  concealed  in  the  mill's  solid  structure — prevented 
him  from  being  satisfied  with  a  mere  view  of  the 
outside. 

Somber  and  mysterious  from  the  outside  the  mill 
did  indeed  look,  rearing  up  to  the  moon  from  the  silver 
grass,  and,  as  it  reared,  sloughing  its  black  shadow 
like  a  snake's  skin.  But  somberness  and  mystery  do 
not  dispel  curiosity;  they  augment  it. 

"  Come  on,  Butter,"  said  Jimmy.  "  There's  no  one 
about  now,  let's  go  and  have  a  squint."  The  field 
was  empty  of  its  recent  visitors  at  the  moment 
Jimmy  and  Butt  entered  at  the  low  door,  and  found 
themselves  in  the  ground  floor  room  of  the  mill.  A 
couple  of  candles  flaming  in  beer-bottles  on  a  rickety 
table  showed  the  room  to  be  of  a  fair  size,  circular, 
and  weather-stained,  but  vacant  of  anything  that  might 
arouse  particular  interest.  Some  packing-cases  that 
seemed  to  serve  the  purpose  of  chairs ;  blankets  in  the 
corner;  a  cupboard  containing  bottles,  cheese,  and 


Moonlight  at  the  Mill  251 

bread;  some  clothes  of  a  fusty  appearance,  hung  up 
on  nails;  there  was  nothing  extraordinary  in  these. 
They  conveyed  nothing  except  the  suggestion  that 
Captain  Bunbury  had  not  gone  very  far  towards  fur- 
nishing his  rooms. 

"  I  vote  we  go  up  to  the  next  floor,"  said  Jimmy, 
and  went  up  winding,  creaking  steps,  that  seemed  half 
ladder  and  half  staircase,  into  darkness. 

"  Get  one  of  the  candles,"  said  Jimmy  to  Butt. 

"  You're  having  all  the  fun,"  complained  Butt, 
when  he  had  brought  it,  "  and  I'm  having  all  the 
fag." 

"  You  can  go  up  the  next  steps  first,  if  you  like," 
said  Jimmy  generously.  "  And  I'll  hold  the  candle. 
This  is  only  the  second  floor." 

The  second-floor  room  was  like  the  first,  built  in 
a  circle,  but  smaller,  and  showing,  even  more  effec- 
tively, the  stains  and  wear  of  time.  Some  of  the 
machinery  that  had  worked  the  mill  in  the  days  when 
grist  came  to  it  still  stood  in  its  place,  silent  and 
rusty;  immobile,  as  though  affixed  for  ever  by  the 
innumerable  cobwebs  that  bound  it.  There  was  a  great 
wheel  in  a  grinding  frame,  so  meshed  and  convoluted 
by  the  spiders  that  it  seemed  a  hurricane  might  blow 
and  never  again  shift  it  a  hair's  breadth.  The  room  was 
calculated  altogether  to  give  one  the  shivers;  which 
was  perhaps  why  Mr.  Boke  and  his  companions  had 
not  used  it;  also  why  Butt,  having  been  accorded  the 
privilege  of  being  first  man  up  into  whatever  was 
above  the  trap-door  overhead,  hung  back  a  little  when 
he  had  got  to  the  top  of  the  ladder.  It  was  a  real 
ladder  here,  with  worm-eaten  steps. 

"  Do  I "  said  Butt,  looking  down  upon  Jimmy, 

who  was  balanced  on  a  beam  in  the  room  below,  "  do 


252  Moonlight  at  the  Mill 

I  just  shove  the  trap  in?  I  thought  I  heard  some- 
body speaking." 

"  Yes,"  said  Jimmy.  "  I  suppose  you're  not  funk- 
ing it,  are  you  ?  " 

To  place  such  a  supposition  beyond  the  region  of 
doubt,  Butt  thrust  boldly  at  the  trap,  which  shifted 
inwards  gradually.  It  took  some  knocking,  but  went 
like  a  cork  in  the  end. 

"  Buck  in,"  said  Jimmy.  "  I'll  be  after  you  in  a 
mo'." 

Butt  bucked  in  obediently,  and  at  once  gave  a  yell, 
which  caused  Jimmy  to  drop  his  candle.  It  rattled  to 
the  floor  below,  being  extinguished  in  its  descent. 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

A   HOMERIC    NIGHT 

MR.  FAVIEL  had  been  sitting  in  the  third-floor  room 
of  the  mill  for  the  best  part  of  a  week,  and  he  had 
been  getting  tired  of  it.  By  day,  the  sun,  driving  into 
that  little  wooden  turret,  made  it  intolerably  stuffy; 
the  night  winds,  and  especially  those  sharp  winds  that 
come  with  the  dawn,  penetrating  easily  through  the 
cracks  and  crevices  of  the  woodwork,  turned  sleep 
into  a  nightmare  of  creaking  draughts. 

If  Faviel  had  been  getting  tired  of  the  mill,  it  was 
not  the  mere  weariness  of  the  hopeless  prisoner.  He 
had  been  making  plans  for  bidding  good-by  to  the 
mill,  making  them  with  a  lightheartedness  that  would 
have  astonished  Blenkenstein  and  even  Boke.  The 
lightheartedness,  it  is  true,  had  succeeded  something 
not  unlike  despair,  which  had  lasted  all  the  time  he 
was  being  carried  from  the  place  where  he  should 
have  met  Judith  to  the  mill.  Quite  apart  from  the 
fact  that  he  had  failed  to  keep  his  tryst,  that  second 
capture  had  seemed  disastrous,  for  he  did  not  doubt 
that  Blenkenstein  would  follow  it  up  by  the  delivery 
of  the  letter  which  would  end  the  wager.  He  knew 
of  course  that  Blenkenstein  had  broken  the  rules  and 
not  allowed  him  the  two  hours'  start,  but  it  was  more 
than  doubtful  if  he  could  prove  it.  Blenkenstein 
would  deny  it  through  thick  and  thin,  and  so  probably 
would  his  employes,  unless  they  were  heavily  bribed 

253 


254  A  Homeric  Night 

to  do  the  opposite;  and  corrupt  witnesses  are  not  of 
much  avail,  especially  in  a  court,  so  to  speak,  of  honor. 
No,  Blenkenstein  would  win  the  wager  if  he  delivered 
the  letter. 

It  puzzled  Faviel  very  greatly  when  the  letter  did 
not  come ;  and  only  gradually,  and  by  putting  himself 
in  the  position  of  a  person  with  a  crooked  mind,  like 
Blenkenstein's,  did  he  begin  to  see  why  the  letter  was 
delayed.  Blenkenstein  meant  to  keep  him  there  till  he 
had  won  both  the  wager  and  Judith — that  is  to  say 
up  till  the  very  last  moment.  It  was  a  good  scheme 
too — Faviel  gave  his  enemy  all  credit  for  it.  He  did 
not  quite  arrive  at  the  full  beauty  of  it — as  from 
Blenkenstein's  point  of  view,  but  he  realized  that,  if 
successful,  it  left  Blenkenstein  in  a  much  better  posi- 
tion than  the  more  obvious  one  of  delivering  the  letter 
and  still  retaining  his  captive. 

It  was  a  good  scheme,  but  it  had,  Faviel  concluded, 
one  fatal  weakness  in  it,  and  that  was  that  it  assumed 
success  instead  of  assuring  it.  The  only  way  Blen- 
kenstein could  assure  success  was  by  delivering  the 
letter,  and  the  longer  he  delayed  to  do  that,  the  less 
secure  his  success  became.  Faviel  said  to  himself  that 
in  Blenkenstein's  case  he  would  have  delivered  it  and 
kept  his  rival  shut  up  all  the  same.  That  might  be 
awkward  and  illegal,  but  it  would  have  been  sure, 
and  avoided  the  mistake  of  despising  one's  foe.  Fa- 
viel had  to  conclude  that  Blenkenstein  thought  very 
little  of  him.  Boke  would  not  directly  answer  any 
questions,  yet  he  gave  his  prisoner  to  understand  that 
he  need  not  worry  about  expecting  the  letter  until  the 
last  moment 

"  'E  knows  you're  safe  an'  happy,"  Boke  had  said 
on  one  occasion,  "  and  he  don't  want  to  let  you  go 


A  Homeric  Night  255 

not  a  moment  afore  he's  settled  things  as  it  seems 
you  might  interfere  with." 

"  So  it's  a  month,  more  or  less,  without  the  option 
of  a  fine?"  Faviel  had  suggested. 

"  That's  it." 

"Ah!" 

"  An'  don't  you  get  frettin'  about  it,"  said  Mr. 
Boke,  not  unsympathetically.  "  It  ain't  no  bloomin' 
use — you  can't  'elp  it.  There's  three  on  us,  and  Bilks 
'isself  could  lift  you  like  as  though  you  was  a 
babby."  .  .  . 

"  He's  a  strong  chap,"  Faviel  agreed,  and  wondered 
that  Mr.  Boke  was  such  a  fool  as  to  take  it  for 
granted  that  mere  avoirdupois  must  prevail  against 
a  desperate  man.  Even  without  being  desperate,  Fa- 
viel felt  pretty  certain  that  he  could  have  taken  on 
the  hulking  Bilks  either  in  the  ring  (unless  Bilks  was 
a  very  fine  heavyweight  indeed,  which  seemed  very 
doubtful) — or  in  one  of  those  rough-and-tumbles  in 
which  his  own  knowledge  of  the  snapable  portions  of 
the  human  anatomy — a  knowledge  he  had  picked  up  in 
Tokio — in  many  hours  of  wriggling  with  Japanese  ex- 
perts— would  give  him  an  incredible  advantage. 

But  perhaps  Boke  was  not  such  a  fool  as  to  be 
certain  that  the  odds  against  his  prisoner  would  keep 
the  latter  submissive  for  good  and  all.  Boke  might 
have  reserves  and  reinforcements  as  yet  unknown.  It 
was  because  he  did  not  know  and  wanted  to  find  out 
before  he  made  a  dash  that  Faviel  had  kept  quiet  for 
so  long.  He  meant  to  get  out  of  the  mill,  but  he 
knew  that  to  do  it  he  must  make  no  errors.  It  would 
be  a  bad  error  to  risk  tackling  all  three  of  his  warders 
at  once,  or  even  in  succession,  for  if  he  failed  once, 
the  second  attempt  would  be  a  lot  harder.  None  of 


256  A  Homeric  Night 

these  men  were  likely  to  encourage  a  second  attempt, 
and  they  would  have  no  compunctions  about  breaking 
his  head. 

Though  he  had  kept  very  quiet  on  the  whole,  Faviel 
had  also  been  getting  tired  of  his  companions.  Apart 
from  the  motives  of  their  fellowship  they  were  not 
in  themselves  the  sort  of  people  Faviel  would  have 
chosen  for  a  week's  constant  companionship  in  an 
overhead  dungeon  six  feet  by  eight.  Mr.  Boke  he  did 
not  object  to.  Mr.  Boke  had  both  humor  and  intel- 
ligence; also  a  delicate  taste  in  tobacco.  Mr.  Boke's 
attitude  was  as  a  rule  at  once  friendly  and  apologetic ; 
and,  except  on  the  main  point,  he  was  rather  with 
Faviel  than  against  him. 

Coppenwell,  on  the  other  hand,  was  wholly  unbear- 
able. Whether  Coppenwell  talked,  laughed  or  sang, 
whether  he  was  drunk  or  sober,  Faviel's  one  desire 
was  to  shake  Coppenwell.  Indeed  he  had  done  it  once 
when  that  young  man,  after  his  errand  to  The  Ash- 
lands,  had  ventured  to  comment  in  Faviel's  presence 
on  the  appearance  of  Miss  Mallendon.  But  for  the 
rescue  effected  by  Mr.  Boke  and  Bilks,  it  is  probable 
that  Coppenwell  would  have  left  the  third-floor  room 
of  the  mill  with  more  than  a  bump  on  his  head  and 
two  teeth  missing,  and  a  sulky  determination  to  pay 
his  enemy  out. 

Bilks,  the  Hercules  of  Mr.  Boke's  party,  was  noth- 
ing like  so  unendurable  as  Coppenwell ;  but  his  brutish 
dullness — sometimes  friendly  enough,  at  others  sullen 
— was  apt  to  become  oppressive.  He  it  was  who,  in 
getting  Faviel  from  behind  in  the  glade  near  The 
Ashlands,  had  borne  him  off  "  like  a  babby  "  to  the 
cart  Mr.  Boke  had  in  waiting.  Bilks  was  generally  left 
in  charge  of  the  third-floor  room,  Mr.  Boke's  theory 


A  Homeric  Night  257 

being  that,  while  it  was  practically  impossible  for  his 
prisoner  to  get  past  Bilks,  it  was  utterly  impossible  for 
him  to  get  past  without  a  rough-and-tumble  that  would 
bring  himself  and  Coppenwell  on  to  the  scene. 

There  was  a  good  deal  in  this  theory — Faviel  was 
thinking  it  again — as  he  sat  opposite  Bilks  on  the 
floor,  half  choked  with  the  cavendish  reek  that  came 
steadily  from  that  worthy's  clay.  Yet  if  he  was  to  es- 
cape, and  the  thing  had  to  be  effected  soon,  Faviel  was 
not  sure  that  he  would  not  have  to  begin  by  getting 
past  Bilks.  In  his  prison  week  he  had  evolved  a  dozen 
other  schemes  of  escape,  from  getting  through  the 
loophole  window  (usually  kept  closed)  to  setting  the 
mill  on  fire  in  the  night;  but  none  of  them  had  seemed 
wholly  satisfactory.  It  looked  as  though  a  struggle 
with  Bilks  would  be  the  best  thing  after  all;  and 
Faviel  had  practically  decided  upon  it  just  about  the 
time  Jimmy  and  Butt  entered  the  mill.  The  moment 
appeared  unusually  propitious.  He  had  a  pretty  good 
idea  that  Coppenwell  was  not  on  the  premises.  Mr. 
Boke  had  let  out  some  little  time  before  some  of  his 
disgust  at  Coppenwell's  insubordinate  behavior;  and 
the  gun-shot  that  supplied  Mr.  Bayford  with  a  text, 
had  also  supplied  Faviel  with  a  fair  reason  for  sup- 
posing that  Coppenwell  was  away. 

If  Coppenwell  was  away,  Bilks  could  at  the  best 
be  reinforced  by  Mr.  Boke.  Mr.  Boke's  wrists  were 
not  unlike  handcuffs  for  hardness,  but  then  he  was 
weak  on  the  legs.  If  Bilks  could  be  placed  hors  de 
combat 

At  this  point  in  his  deliberations  Mr.  Faviel  first 
heard  the  voices  of  the  Ashlands  party.  He  did  not 
recognize  any  of  them,  but  in  the  clear  night  air  he 
distinctly  caught  a  word  now  and  then.  They  were 


258  A  Homeric  Night 

talking  to  Mr.  Boke  about  a  view.  A  party  of  trippers 
probably  on  a  moonlight  picnic.  They  wanted  to  have 
a  view  of  the  mill. 

Presently  Faviel  heard  Mr.  Boke — he  fancied  it  was 
Mr.  Boke,  but  he  was  not  quite  sure — saying,  "  This 
way."  Mr.  Boke  then,  if  it  was  Mr.  Boke,  was  not  in 
the  mill  any  more  than  Coppenwell.  He  might  indeed 
be  some  way  from  it. 

Faviel  looked  across  at  Bilks.  That  squat  Hercules 
was  tranquilly  pouring  forth  the  usual  clouds  of  smoke. 

"  I  wonder  who  those  people  are  ?  "  said  Faviel. 

"Dunno,"  said  Bilks. 

"  From  what  I  can  hear,"  said  Faviel,  "  they  seem 
to  be  wanting  to  look  at  the  mill." 

"  Not  they,"  said  Bilks. 

"  And  in  that  case  you'll  be  in  rather  a  hole." 

The  taunt  was  lost  upon  Bilks,  who  replied  not  at 
all  to  it,  but  smoked  imperturbably  on.  The  very  fact 
that  he  made  no  answer  irritated  Faviel,  though  he 
knew  the  taciturn  nature  of  the  fellow. 

"  I  said  that  in  that  case  you'll  be  in  rather  a  hole." 

"Did  'ee?"  said  Bilks. 

Faviel  rose  to  his  feet  impatiently.  The  case  of 
their  wanting  to  see  the  mill  was  so  hypothetical  a 
one.  They  would  not  be  allowed  to  in  any  case.  No 
wonder  the  brute  was  so  completely  undisturbed.  He 
stamped  about  impatiently. 

But  it  seemed  that  Bilks  was  not  so  easy  in  his  mind 
as  his  attitude  seemed  at  first  to  suggest. 

"  Sit  down  again,  can't  'ee?  "  he  grunted  at  Faviel, 
who  had  gone  on  to  the  closed  loophole. 

"  I'm  not  going  to  shout  to  them,  you  know,"  said 
Faviel.  It  was  more  or  less  understood  that  Faviel 
could  not  afford  to  summon  assistance,  since  that  might 


A  Homeric  Night  259 

lead  to  his  discovery  and  the  instant  delivery  of  the 
letter,  and  the  understanding  had  procured  him  fresh 
air  before  now. 

"  Don't  keer,"  said  Bilks,  "  sit  down,  can't  'ee " 

"  And  I'm  not  going  to  jump  out,"  said  Faviel.  He 
wished  to  provoke  Bilks  into  rising.  He  could  not 
tackle  him  so  well  in  a  sitting  posture,  and  moreover, 
he  sat  on  the  trap. 

"  Siddown,  I  said,"  growled  Bilks. 

"  You  needn't  say  it  again,"  said  Faviel,  "  for  I'm 
not  going  to." 

Mr.  Bilks  got  to  his  feet.  He  was  enormously 
thick,  with  long  monkeyish  arms,  and  short  legs  like  a 
bear's;  and  as  he  lumbered  across  the  room,  his  walk 
was  not  unlike  that  animal's. 

"  What  do  'ee  mean  now  ?  "  he  said.  "  Coin'  to 
give  trouble ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Faviel. 

Bilks  put  out  his  arm  for  the  hug,  and  Faviel 
slipped  into  the  middle  of  the  room.  It  was  no  good, 
he  knew,  thinking  to  make  an  artistic  spun-out  affair 
of  the  contest.  The  room  was  too  small  for  him  to 
evade  that  tremendous  grip  for  very  long.  He  slipped 
into  the  middle  of  the  room,  and  as  the  other  man 
wheeled  slowly  round,  he  went  in  under  the  hug  and 
got  his  right  fist  plumb  on  the  point  of  the  jaw. 

For  a  second  Bilks  clutched  at  the  bright  air  that 
this  stroke  creates  for  the  best  and  strongest  of  men, 
and  in  that  second  Faviel  got  in  his  right  again,  and 
his  left.  Bilks  staggered  and  went  over  backwards. 
He  must  have  struck  his  head  on  one  of  the  protrud- 
ing beams,  for  he  lay  stunned. 

It  was  at  this  moment  that  the  trap-door  popped 
upwards  and  Butt  popped  after  it.  He  had  been  right 


260  A  Homeric  Night 

in  supposing  that  he  had  heard  voices,  though  in  truth 
he  had  not  been  certain  about  it.  For  the  rest,  his 
own  knocking  at  the  trap  had  precluded  his  hearing 
the  noise  of  the  contest  overhead,  which  was  in  any 
case  brief  and  sharp. 

Faviel,  for  almost  identical  reasons,  because,  that 
is  to  say,  he  had  been  knocking  at  Mr.  Bilks's  face, 
had  been  equally  deaf  to  Butt's  approach. 

It  would  be  difficult  to  say  whether  he  or  Butt — 
neither  of  whom  had  before  seen  the  other — was  the 
more  astonished  at  confronting  one  another,  but  it  is 
on  record  that  Faviel  was  the  quicker  in  adapting  the 
circumstances  to  his  need.  He  did  not  know  who  this 
new  arrival  was,  but  the  new  arrival  was  on  his  knees 
still,  and  beside  him  lay  the  coat  which  Mr.  Bilks 
always  discarded  in  the  evenings. 

It  was  the  effect  of  having  Mr.  Bilks's  coat  sud- 
denly and  stiflingly  flung  over  his  head  like  a  sack, 
that  caused  Butt  to  emit  the  yell  which,  in  its  turn, 
caused  Jimmy  to  drop  the  candle. 

And  while  Jimmy  was  feeling  for  the  lost  light  and 
shouting  to  Butt  simultaneously,  Faviel,  with  the  trap- 
door replaced  above  his  head,  was  feeling  his  way 
delicately  down  the  ladder.  He  went  so  softly  that 
Jimmy,  still  groping  for  the  candle,  never  heard  him, 
and  so  he  went  from  the  second  floor  to  the  ground 
and  out  into  the  moonlight. 

In  the  still  air  he  stood  and  listened.  Away  to  the 
right,  whither  Mr.  Boke  had  led  his  flock,  voices  were 
audible;  and  conscious  that  the  field  was  ringed  with 
barbed  wire,  except  where  the  two  paths  led  out  of  it, 
Faviel  made  for  the  left. 

Judith,  standing  with  Miss  Finch  and  Etta  Warley 
at  the  side  of  the  field,  saw  him  suddenly  in  a  splash 


A  Homeric  Night  261 

of  the  moon,  and  he  saw  her  at  the  same  moment. 
He  was  bareheaded,  and  in  the  pallid  light  was  not 
unlike  a  ghost,  and  as  he  saw  her,  he  made  as  if  to 
stop. 

Then,  as  the  voices  from  the  right  came  nearer,  he 
changed  his  mind,  and,  slipping  into  the  shadow,  went 
quickly  by  and  plunged  into  the  trees. 

"  I  shall  see  you  to-morrow,"  he  said,  as  he  passed. 

"  Who  was  that  ?  "  said  Etta  and  Miss  Finch,  in  a 
breath.  They  had  not  seen  him  coming,  and  in  the 
shadows  he  was  indistinguishable. 

"  T  " 

Judith  was  saved  an  answer  by  the  irruption  from 
the  mill  at  this  point  of  Jimmy  and  Butt,  full  of  ex- 
citement and  shouting  loudly.  Jimmy  had  found  the 
candle,  and  by  its  aid  had  discovered  Butt  squirming 
like  an  eel  in  Bilks's  jacket,  and  Bilks  himself  lying 
stunned  on  the  floor. 

"  He  jammed  it  over  my  head,"  Butt  had  explained, 
when  disentangled. 

"Who?" 

"  The  other  chap." 

"Which?"    Jimmy  pointed  to  Bilks. 

"  There  must  have  been  some  one  else." 

"  I  expect  he  went  by  me  in  the  dark  then,"  said 
Jimmy.  "  Jolly  lucky  you  weren't  murdered,  young 
Butt." 

"  Let's  get  out,"  said  Butt,  feeling  creepy  at  this 
retrospective  possibility. 

"  Yes,  we'd  better  get  help,"  Jimmy  said,  a  little 
creepy  himself,  and  they  found  the  field  and  their 
lungs,  just  as  Faviel  plunged  into  the  trees,  and  Mr. 
Boke,  who  had  been  delayed  by  talk  with  Blenken- 
stein,  arrived  back  in  that  gentleman's  company. 


262  A  Homeric  Night 

Butt  calling  "  Murder,"  lustily,  was  Mr.  Boke's  first 
intimation  of  the  calamity  that  had  befallen  in  his 
absence. 

"What  is  it?"  he  asked  sharply. 

"  Man  murdered  in  the  mill,"  said  Jimmy,  "  and 
murderer  bolted.  We  went  up  to  see." 

"  Curse  you  young  monkeys ! "  said  Mr.  Boke. 
"  Which  is  murdered?  " 

"  A  big  heavy  chap,"  said  Jimmy.  "  I  don't  know 
that  he's  dead,  you  know." 

Mr.  Boke  had  drawn  Blenkenstein  aside. 

"  That's  Bilks.  Mr.  Faviel's  got  away — damn  those 
young  monkeys." 

"  Sink  yourself  for  a  fool,"  said  Blenkenstein  sav- 
agely. "  What  did  you  want  to  leave  him  for  ?  " 

"How  could  I  help  it?" 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do?  "  asked  Blenkenstein, 
who  saw  his  money  in  the  scales  again,  and  inclining 
to  the  other  side. 

"Catch  him  if  I  can,"  said  Mr.  Boke.  "If  you 
and  one  or  two  of  the  gentlemen  will  help  me."  He 
turned,  without  waiting  for  an  answer,  to  the  ladies. 
"  Did  any  of  you  ladies  see  any  one  pass  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Yes,"  said  Miss  Finch.  "  A  man  ran  past  us  into 
the  woods.  Is  it — is  he ?" 

"  It  isn't  anything  but  that  my  man's  brother  's  got 
away,"  said  Mr.  Boke  coolly,  "  after  knocking  my  man 
on  the  head.  Thanks  to  these  young  gentlemen's  inter- 
ference. The  poor  chap  was  a  bit  off  his  head.  De- 
lirious, you  know." 

"  He  said  " — Miss  Finch  shuddered  at  the  recollec- 
tion— "  that  he  would  see  us  again  to-morrow !  " 

"  Is  that  so  ?  "  said  Mr.  Boke,  throwing  Blenken- 
stein a  glance. 


A  Homeric  Night  263 

"  He  certainly  did  say  so,"  Etta  agreed.  Judith  had 
not  spoken. 

"  Well,  I  hope  to  see  him  again  to-night,"  said  Mr. 
Boke.  "  Now,  sir,"  Mr.  Boke  addressed  himself  to 
Blenkenstein  as  to  a  stranger.  "  I  take  it  it's  your 
fault  and  your  friends'  that  this  has  happened,  but  it 
ain't  no  good  talking  about  that.  What  I  want  to 
know  is,  if  you  and  another  gentleman  or  two  '11  help 
me  to  catch  him." 

Sir  Jasper,  Mr.  Bayford,  and  the  others  had  come 
bustling  up,  having  heard  Butt's  yells.  Sir  Jasper 
offered  his  assistance  as  soon  as  he  understood,  Mr. 
Bayford  offered  that  of  Mr.  Wormyer.  "  An  oppor- 
tunity for  you,  Wormyer — an  opportunity  for  you.  I 
fear  I  am  not  fleet  enough  myself."  And  three  other 
men  of  the  party,  including  O'Levin,  also  volun- 
teered. 

"  Hadn't  you  better  go  and  see  to  the  man  who  was 
knocked  down,  Sir  Jasper?"  suggested  Blenkenstein. 

"  Yes,  pray  stay  with  us,"  said  Miss  Finch. 

"  And  keep  those  boys  back,"  said  Mr.  Boke. 
"  Now,  gentlemen,  quick's  the  word.  We'll  spread,  if 
you  please.  There  ain't  much  chance,"  he  added,  start- 
ing off  with  Blenkenstein.  "  He's  got  three  minutes' 
start,  but  we  might  just  strike  him." 

"  If  you  don't,  you  can  whine  for  your  money,"  said 
Blenkenstein.  He  was  almost  beside  himself  with 
fury.  Almost  at  the  last  moment  it  looked  as  though 
his  plan  had  failed  completely.  He  had  not  even  de- 
livered the  letter.  It  was  still  in  his  pocket,  as  he 
spoke. 

"  One  o'  my  men,  Coppenwell,  is  keeping  a  watch 
in  the  woods,"  said  Mr.  Boke,  disregarding  the  tone. 
"  He  may  'a'  seen  him.  And  if  we  don't  catch  him 


264  A  Homeric  Night 

to-night,  you  heard  what  the  lady  said? — we  may  see 
him  to-morrow." 

Three  minutes'  start  may  seem  sufficient  for  a  des- 
perate man  in  a  woodland  country,  but  in  something 
less  than  a  quarter  of  an  hour  Faviel  realized  that  he 
might  have  had  more  with  advantage.  For  one  thing, 
he  had  not  expected  so  instant  a  pursuit  as  had  been 
organized  by  Mr.  Boke,  and  was  astonished  to  hear 
people  behind  him  among  the  trees  before  he  had  got 
any  very  long  way.  For  another — and  this  was  what 
mattered,  for,  assuming  pursuers  in  his  wake  only,  he 
could  easily  enough  keep  ahead — he  found  out,  almost 
at  the  same  time  as  the  pursuit  first  made  itself  heard, 
that  something  in  the  nature  of  a  blockade  was  being 
formed  in  front  of  him.  The  truth  is  that  Faviel's 
front,  which  on  ordinary  occasions  might  have  been 
presumed  open  and  unguarded,  happened,  by  force  of 
circumstances,  to  correspond  with  Mr.  Coppenwell's 
rear. 

Colonel  Glemmy  and  six  keepers  were  in  fact  in 
hot  pursuit  of  that  gentleman,  and  Mr.  Coppenwell, 
retiring  at  an  uneasy  trot  on  the  mill,  was  drawing  the 
seven  right  across  Faviel's  path.  The  suspicion  of 
what  was  occurring  and  the  confirmation  of  his  sus- 
picion were  presented  to  Faviel  simultaneously  at  a 
singularly  awkward  point.  He  had  issued  from  out 
of  a  pathless,  but  open  portion  of  the  wood,  into  one 
of  the  many  straight  alleys  cut  through  it  for  shooting 
purposes,  and,  running  down  this,  observed  that  the 
hitherto  dispersed  trees  on  either  side  had  closed  up 
into  a  stifling  underwood  of  hazel  and  bramble  through 
which  progress  would  be  slow  and  thorny  in  the  ex- 
treme. Shouts  from  behind  indicated  that  some  per- 
son or  persons  were  on  the  shooting  path  in  his  rear. 


A  Homeric  Night  265 

He  ran  on,  thinking  to  turn  off  into  the  trees  as  soon 
as  their  density  should  show  signs  of  lessening.  At 
a  bend  in  the  path,  he  almost  ran  into  Coppenwell. 
That  young  man,  breathless  and  defiant,  had  turned 
at  bay  in  this  strategic  pass,  and  had  his  gun  pointed 
at  three  men  who  were  slowing  up  on  him  at  a  dis- 
tance of  some  twenty  yards. 

He  did  not  hear  Faviel  behind  him,  being  busied 
with  the  frontal  attack. 

"  I'll  shoot,  if  you  come  higher,"  he  shouted  at  the 
three  men. 

"  You  dare,  you  rascal ! "  said  some  one,  who  was 
indeed  Colonel  Glemmy. 

"  Putt  your  goon  up !  "  said  one  of  the  keepers. 

But  Mr.  Coppenwell  kept  it  pointed,  heedless  of  the 
crackling  on  either  side  that  indicated  to  Faviel's  ears 
that  a  flank  attack  through  the  brushwood  was  also 
being  developed  both  on  the  right  front  and  the  left, 
while  sounds  of  running  were  fast  becoming  audible 
to  the  rear. 

The  end  to  this  strained  position  came  more  quickly 
than  Faviel  had  expected. 

Colonel  Glemmy  and  his  supporters,  mistaking  the 
rearward  approach  for  the  completion  of  their  flank 
attack,  feinted  a  rush.  Coppenwell  fired,  flung  his 
gun  away,  and,  with  an  oath,  plunged  into  the  brush- 
wood on  his  left.  Faviel  at  the  same  moment  dived 
into  the  right-hand  thicket,  just  evading  the  keeper 
who  was  coming  out. 

Mr.  Wormyer  (  for  he  it  was  who  was  first  along  the 
shooting-path  from  behind)  valiantly,  and  with  flying 
coat-tails,  dashed  into  the  center  of  Colonel  Glemmy's 
main  force.  He  was  promptly  knocked  down. 


CHAPTER  XXXII 

THE  LAST  DAY (l) — DAWN.      MR.  COPPENWELL  RATS 

THE  pinks  of  dawn  were  stealing  over  a  sky  soft 
and  silvery  as  birch-bark  when  Blenkenstein  entered 
that  glade  outside  The  Ashlands  which  Faviel  had 
appointed  a  week  before  for  his  tryst  with  Judith. 
Silvery  gossamers  hung  between  the  green  of  the  trees 
and  the  taller  grasses;  the  dew-drenched  turf  looked 
as  if  it  were  spilled  over  with  quicksilver.  Night 
still  lingered  between  the  tree-trunks,  while  the  birds 
had  begun  to  twitter  doubtfully,  as  though  the  light- 
ening overhead  might  be  stars  and  not  the  day;  but 
in  the  open  glades  there  was  no  mistaking  the  dawn. 

Blenkenstein  had  no  eye  for  it,  save  as  a  point  of 
time.  He  had  fixed  the  glade  as  a  place  in  which  to 
meet  Coppenwell,  and  Coppenwell  had  not  yet  come. 
Could  he  by  any  luck  have  got  on  to  Faviel's  track? 
After  the  fiasco  caused  by  Mr.  Wormyer's  mistake — 
Blenkenstein  referred  to  it  as  such,  though,  as  Mr. 
Wormyer  pointed  out,  the  mistake  was  made  rather  by 
Colonel  Glemmy's  gamekeeper — all  trace  of  Faviel 
had  been  lost.  The  gamekeeper,  who  had  been  trying 
to  outflank  Coppenwell  on  the  right,  said  he  made  a 
grab  at  somebody,  but  it  might  have  been  a  stoat  for 
all  he  laid  hold  of.  The  gamekeeper  on  the  left  had 
not  even  had  cause  to  make  a  grab,  for  Coppenwell, 
discreetly  retiring — instead  of  breaking  through  as  Fa- 
viel had  done — reappeared  as  one  of  the  party  in 

266 


The  Last  Day:   (i)   Dawn  267 

pursuit  of  the  madman  from  the  mill;  and,  since  every 
one  was  in  confusion  as  to  who  was  who,  and  what 
was  the  next  thing  to  be  done,  and  Coppenwell  had 
not  at  any  time  been  within  recognizable  distance  of 
Colonel  Glemmy's  men,  he  succeeded  in  his  ruse  per- 
fectly. 

Explanations  between  the  two  parties  had  of  course 
been  exchanged,  explanations  of  a  sort — and  Mr. 
Wormyer  had  been  restored  from  a  state  of  inanition 
to  one  of  heroic  self -consciousness  by  a  dose  of  brandy 
from  Colonel  Glemmy's  own  flask.  Partially  sup- 
ported between  two  gamekeepers,  Mr.  Wormyer  had 
then  trudged  back  to  the  mill  with  the  others,  where 
a  large  bump  on  his  head  was  discovered.  It  was 
rubbed  with  butter  by  Mr.  Bayford,  while  further 
explanations  were  entered  into  by  Colonel  Glemmy 
and  Sir  Jasper  Mallendon. 

Bilks,  who  was  in  a  very  similar  condition  to  that 
of  Mr.  Wormyer,  only  sullen  instead  of  blissful,  was 
cross-examined  by  Colonel  Glemmy,  but  having  previ- 
ously been  seen  by  Coppenwell — on  Blenkenstein's 
instructions — stuck  to  the  story  of  the  delirious 
brother.  The  only  weak  point  in  his  evidence  was 
his  statement  that  "  he'd  like  to  get  back  on  him,  he 
would " 

"  On  your  own  brother,  my  man  ?  "  said  Mr.  Bay- 
ford,  shocked.  "Your  own  invalid  brother ?" 

"  He  'adn't  got  no  call  to  kick  me  on  the  'ead,"  said 
Bilks,  who  was  convinced  that  this  was  the  way  he 
had  come  by  his  injury.  "  I'll  bang  'im,  if  I  git  a-hold 
of  'im " 

"  Dear,  dear,"  said  Mr.  Bayford,  "  this  is  hardly 
fraternal;  this  is,  I  may  say,  inhuman " 

"  O,  stow  it,"  said  Bilks  sullenly. 


268  The  Last  Day:   (i)   Dawn 

"Well,  well,  well,"  said  Colonel  Glemmy.  "It's 
the  sort  of  thing  one  expects  with  this  class  of  fellow. 
What?  Kill  their  own  father.  What?  Rogues,  you 
know,  rogues,  rogues.  Personally,  don't  believe  a 
word  the  feller  says.  D'ye  hear  me,  feller,  don't  be- 
lieve a  word  you  say.  What?  Not  a  word.  But  I 
s'pose  there's  nothing  to  be  done  to-night,  Mallendon, 
eh,  what?  Where  are  the  other  two,  or  half-dozen? 
Score,  I  dare  say.  Thick  as  wasps — wasps,  what?" 

Sir  Jasper  said  he  fancied  there  were  only  three, 
or  four,  including  the  delirious  brother.  One  of  them 
had  been  with  their  party  and  had  come  back.  So  had 
the  other,  only  he  hadn't  come  back,  being  still  on  the 
track  of  the  unfortunate  invalid,  Sir  Jasper  supposed. 

"  Dare  say  he  was  the  man  with  the  gun — what  ?  " 
said  Colonel  Glemmy.  "  Well,  I'll  smoke  'em  out  yet 
— smoke  'em  all  out." 

Mr.  Boke  was  the  one  who  had  not  returned,  when 
Sir  Jasper's  party  left,  and  that  is  why  Blenkenstein 
had  arranged  with  Coppenwell  to  meet  him  in  the  glade 
at  dawn.  Blenkenstein  could  not  rest  long  without 
tidings  of  some  sort,  or  without  fixing  up  some  last 
trap  for  Faviel.  There  was  still  time  to  catch  him, 
he  said  to  himself ;  and  almost  persuaded  himself  that 
Coppenwell  had  good  news  to  bring  him,  when  that 
young  man  did  at  last  make  his  appearance.  An 
unwashen  blink-eyed  appearance  it  was. 

"  You're  late,"  said  Blenkenstein,  sourly  enough. 
The  Ashlands  party  had  got  back  after  midnight,  and 
it  was  about  half-past  three,  now.  Blenkenstein  was 
feeling  the  effects  of  not  having  slept  more  than  an 
hour. 

"  Hi've  bin  arter  'im  the  'ole  night,"  said  Coppen- 
well protestingly.  "  That's  why  I'm  a  bit  latish."  He 


The  Last  Day:   (i)   Dawn  269 

had,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  slept  peacefully  at  the  mill 
from  the  moment  the  Ashlands  party  left  it. 

"  Well,  have  you  found  him  ?  "  Blenkenstein  asked. 

"  No,"  said  Coppenwell.  "  I  haven't  found  'im,  not 
exactly." 

"And  that  fool  Boke?" 

"  Not  'e,"  said  Coppenwell.  "  'E  ain't  come  back, 
ain't  likely  to.  Hit's  'is  fault  the  'ole  thing's  mushed. 
If  he'd  bin  in  the  mill,  now.  But  there,  Boke  ain't 
up  to  the  work.  Hit's  the  third  time  'e's  let  'im 

3  "What?"  said  Blenkenstein. 

Mr.  Coppenwell  had  conceived  a  characteristic  plan. 
It  had  occurred  to  him  that,  their  work  having  come 
to  naught,  Mr.  Boke  was  not  likely  to  be  in  high  favor 
with  his  employer.  Nor,  as  one  of  Mr.  Boke's 
assistants  merely,  was  he — Coppenwell — likely  to  be  in 
high  favor  either.  But  as  the  man  who  ought  to  have 
been  in  command,  as  the  man  who  had  accomplished 
whatever  had  been  accomplished,  who  had  given  warn- 
ings, which,  if  regarded,  would  have  made  success  cer- 
tain, as  such  a  man,  Coppenwell  might  perhaps  be  so 
disassociated  from  Boke  in  Mr.  Blenkenstein's  mind,  as 
possibly  even  to  succeed  him  in  Mr.  Blenkenstein's 
employ.  Not  for  this  job.  Mr.  Coppenwell  was  pretty 
sick  of  this  job,  but  Mr.  Boke  had  informed  him  that 
there  were  things  to  be  done  occasionally  for  the  Im- 
perial Cities  Exchange,  Ltd.,  which  were  worth  doing. 

He  told  the  story  of  Mr.  Boke's  failures  now  in  an 
ingenious  way  that  emphasized  their  futility  and  the 
soundness  of  the  advice  he  had  wasted  on  Mr.  Boke. 
But  Blenkenstein  was  not  content  merely  to  listen  to 
the  history  of  Mr.  Boke's  failures. 

"  I  know  he's  a  fool,"  he  said.     "  Biggest  fool  I 


270  The  Last  Day:   (i)   Dawn 

ever  saw.  You  may  be  smart,  as  you're  trying  to 
make  out ;  but  are  you  going  to  get  hold  of  our  man 
again  ?  What  did  you  mean  by  saying  you  hadn't  ex- 
actly found  him  ?  " 

Mr.  Coppenwell  had  not  meant  anything  in  par- 
ticular; but  he  had  the  shrewdness  to  see  that  merely 
hazy  hints  would  be  wasted. 

"  What  I  meant,  sir,"  he  said,  "  was  that,  hif  you 
like,  the  other  man  and  I'll  go  on  with  the  'unt  for 
to-day.  If  we  don't  get  'im,  we  don't.  But  I've  a 
notion  we  might." 

"How?" 

"  Why,"  said  Coppenwell,  "  as  Hi've  'card,  'e's 
goin'  to  turn  up  to-day.  Where?  Hat  the  show. 
Where  helse  would  'e  ?  Me  an'  Bilks  '11  keep  a  watch, 
an'  hif  we  spot  'im,  we  nab  'im." 

Blenkenstein  was  conscious  that  the  ingenuity  which 
the  young  man  had  shown  in  slandering  Mr.  Boke  was 
absent  from  this  plan,  which,  indeed,  Mr.  Coppenwell 
only  offered  on  the  spur  of  the  moment.  But  Blen- 
kenstein was  ready  to  clutch  at  straws. 

"  I'll  give  you  two  hundred  pounds,  if  you  do,"  he 
said. 

Mr.  Coppenwell's  eyes  glistened. 

"  Hif  Bilks  and  me  spots  'im,"  he  said,  "  Hi 
wouldn't  give  much  for  his  chance  o'  getting  away. 
Bilks  is  pretty  keen  to  meet  'im — Bilks  is,  hand  I've 
got  one  against  'im  myself." 

Blenkenstein  looked  at  him,  and  the  thought  that 
had  first  occurred  to  him  when  the  proposal  to  visit 
the  mill  had  been  broached  at  the  Mallendons'  recurred 
to  him  with  increasing  force.  He  had  not  shrunk  from 
it  then — not  altogether — though  Faviel's  escape  had 
then  been  but  the  barest  possibility.  Now  this  rival 


The  Last  Day:   (i)   Dawn  271 

whom  he  hated  was  free,  had  got  the  better  of  him, 
threatened  to  destroy  all  his  hopes.  What  right  had 
a  man  he  hated  to  steal  from  him  ?  .  .  .  He  remem- 
bered that  Coppenwell  was  the  person  he  had  thought 
of  as  likely  instrument  in  case  of  need.  Looking  at 
Coppenwell  with  his  pallid  face,  receding  chin,  vicious 
eyes  glistening  with  the  mere  idea  of  having  his  re- 
venge, he  saw  that  he  had  judged  right. 

"  Look  here!  "  he  said.  "  If  you  meet  him,  I  don't 
want  any  more  risks  taken."  They  were  all  by  them- 
selves in  the  glade,  but  instinctively  Blenkenstein 
dropped  his  voice  to  a  harsh  whisper.  He  wanted 
no  witnesses.  Coppenwell  luckily  wanted  very  little 
persuasion.  Blenkenstein  offered  him  double  the 
previous  price  if,  in  addition  to  discovering  Faviel,  he 
succeeded  in  doing  something  to  him  that  was  not 
actually  put  into  words.  Blenkenstein  did  not  believe 
in  words  either,  if  you  could  do  without  them. 

He  left  the  glade  moodily  enough.  In  spite  of 
Coppenwell's  viciousness,  there  was  little  enough  in  his 
plan  to  make  success  likely.  Unless,  of  course,  Faviel 
did  turn  up.  But  would  he?  Would  he  risk  losing 
the  wager  at  the  last  moment?  He  was  fool  enough, 
if  he  thought  it  made  the  difference  with  Judith. 
Blenkenstein,  with  a  sudden  quickening  of  the  blood, 
realized  that  he  was  fool  enough  in  that  event  him- 
self. And  the  event  still  hung  doubtful.  After  all 
these  days,  he  was  no  surer  of  what  her  answer  would 
be  than  before.  She  had  indeed  seemed  less  distant 
during  the  last  week,  when  he  had  been  more  careful 
of  playing  his  cards.  Last  night,  for  example,  after 
his  return  from  London,  she  had  seemed  pleased  to 
see  him.  She  had  accompanied  him  on  the  drive,  un- 
asked; and,  unasked,  she  had  walked  up  with  him 


272  The  Last  Day:   (i)   Dawn 

through  the  moonlit  woods  to  the  mill.  But  for 
Mr.  Bayford's  presence  Blenkenstein  would  have  asked 
her  then.  Later,  the  night  had  become  mere  confusion 
for  everybody.  Well,  he  would  play  the  fool  in  that 
confounded  play  early  to-morrow  afternoon — no,  it 
was  this  afternoon,  he  suddenly  remembered — and  as 
soon  as  that  was  done,  he  would  try  his  luck.  He  got 
back  to  his  bed  dog-tired,  and  was  waked  from  a 
dream,  in  which  all  went  well,  by  the  information  that 
a  boy  had  come  up  with  a  message  from  the  village 
to  the  effect  that  a  man  wanted  to  see  him  there  on 
important  business. 

Looking  at  his  watch,  Mr.  Blenkenstein  found  that 
it  was  10:30. 

"  Tell  the  boy,  will  you,"  he  said,  "  that  I'll  come 
round  in  about  half  an  hour.  Where  is  the  man  wait- 
ing, did  you  say?" 

"  At  the  '  Anchor,'  sir." 

Now  a  man  does  not  snatch  sleep  for  about  five 
hours  at  the  outside — and  that  in  two  doses — and  be 
roused  from  his  first  pleasant  dream  to  go  for  a  half- 
mile  walk  before  breakfast  without  feeling  the  effects 
of  it.  Blenkenstein  reached  the  "  Anchor  "  Inn  in  a 
state  of  high  irritability,  and  when  he  saw  that  it  was 
Mr.  Boke  who  awaited  him  there,  he  held  himself  in 
with  difficulty. 

"  Well,"  he  said  curtly,  "  have  you  found  him?  " 

"  No,"  said  Mr.  Boke.  "  I  haven't  found  him — not 
exactly." 

It  was  Coppenwell's  answer,  and  Blenkenstein  had 
not  been  pleased  with  the  wretched  evasion  then.  It 
broke  down  his  patience  altogether  now. 

"  Then  what  the  devil,  you  fool,  do  you  want  to 
fetch  me  out  here  for?" 


The  Last  Day:   (i)   Dawn  273 

Mr.  Boke  had  not  even  snatched  five  hours'  sleep, 
or  had  so  much  as  the  beginning  of  a  pleasant  dream. 
On  the  contrary,  the  reflection  that  had  been  with  him 
most  of  the  night  was  that  quite  undeservedly  he  was 
in  danger  of  losing  not  only  the  credit,  but  also  the 
pay,  for  what  had  been — but  for  bad  luck — a  skilfully 
conducted  campaign.  Blenkenstein  had  let  forth  some 
of  his  venom  on  him  during  the  run  through  the 
woods.  Mr.  Boke,  therefore,  was  not,  any  more  than 
Mr.  Blenkenstein,  in  his  most  patient  mood. 

"  Quietly,  sir,  quietly,"  he  said,  in  his  husky,  affable 
voice.  "  I  fetched  you  out  because  I  had  something 
to  say — what  about  the  payment  for  this  month's  job? 
I  haven't  had  any  yet,  you  know,  sir." 

It  was  not  for  this  that  Mr.  Boke  had  in  the  main 
fetched  Blenkenstein  out,  but  he  could  not  resist 
beginning  with  it.  They  had  left  the  inn,  and  were 
walking  along  the  country  road  leading  back  to  The 
Ashlands.  There  was  no  one  about,  and  Blenkenstein 
relieved  his  mind.  He  had  told  Boke  before  that  he 
might  whine  for  his  money,  and  he  told  him  why  now. 

"  Who  did  you  get  all  this  from?  "  asked  Mr.  Boke, 
as  Blenkenstein  rapped  out  the  score  of  the  failures  to 
secure  Faviel. 

"  That  man  of  yours.  He's  not  such  a  fool  as  you, 
at  any  rate.  He  warned  you." 

"  Ah,  Cop's  a  smart  lad — in  his  way,"  said  Mr. 
Boke  reflectively.  "  Well,  sir,"  he  added,  as  they  came 
to  the  lodge-gate,  "  I  see  you're  going  to  round  on  me. 
I  don't  say  nothin'  about  langwidge — having  heard 
Billingsgate  afore  now — and  I  don't  say  nothin'  more 
about  the  pay,  just  at  present  anyway.  I  might,  o' 
course,  make  things  a  bit  awkward  for  you,  knowin' 
what  I  know." 


274  The  Last  Day:   (i)   Dawn 

"  I'll  have  you  locked  up,  if  you  try,"  said  Blen- 
kenstein. 

"  All  I'm  goin'  to  say  at  present,"  said  Mr.  Boke, 
in  an  alarmingly  affable  voice,  "  is  that  you  are  the 
fool,  sir,  and,  what's  more,  the  biggest,  screwiest, 
narrow-eyed'st  fool  I've  struck  for  a  long  time.  Ex- 
cuse my  langwidge,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Boke,  lifting  his  hat 
politely,  "  but  truth  will  out,  as  they  say.  Never  mind, 
you  trust  Cop — smart  lad,  Cop — in  his  way.  Lost  it 
at  the  last  mo',"  he  continued  to  himself,  as  Blenken- 
stein  hurried  off,  hardly  able  to  trust  himself  from 
assaulting  his  late  agent — "  that's  what  he's  done. 
Well,  fools  is  fools,  and  here's  for  Waybury  an'  Miss 
Faviel.  She  will  pay  like  a  lady  for  a  vallyable 
nephew." 

And  towards  Waybury  Mr.  Boke  set  his  face,  and 
feet  that  were  becoming  distinctly  weary. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 

THE  LAST  DAY — (2) — TWO  O'CLOCK  P.M.      AT  THE 
CHARITY   FETE 

FOR  the  past  hour  or  more  all  roads  had  been  lead- 
ing to  The  Ashlands,  and  people  on  foot  and  people 
in  wagons,  and  motors  and  gigs  and  barouches  and 
landaus  and  wagonettes  and  dogcarts,  people  in  smart 
turnouts  and  people  in  vehicles  more  ancient  and  a 
good  deal  more  rickety  than  omnibuses,  had  been 
flocking  thither.  The  hedges  on  the  road  between 
Waybury  and  The  Ashlands  were  as  white  with  dust 
as  the  way  to  Epsom,  and  in  cross-country  lanes, 
where,  as  a  rule,  the  rattle  of  wheels  was  never  heard, 
chickens  and  ducks  were  still  all  fluttering  from  re- 
peated flights  across  the  very  noses  and  under  the 
very  hoofs  of  strenuous  and  alarming  quadrupeds. 

The  yard  of  the  "  Anchor  "  Inn,  and  its  adjoining 
meadow,  were  like  some  port  crowded  with  masts,  so 
many  shafts  stood  up  from  them;  and  wherever  there 
was  a  patch  of  shade,  and  sometimes  where  there 
wasn't,  some  horse  or  pony  was  tethered.  The 
"  Anchor's  "  solitary  ostler  was  so  wet  with  running 
about,  feeding  and  watering,  that  one  hardly  knew  if 
the  streams  of  water  that  splashed  about  him,  as  he 
went,  came  from  his  face  or  his  bucket. 

The  "  Anchor  "  flew  a  flag,  and  so  did  one  or  two 
of  the  cottages,  to  show  that  Hetchingham  understood 
how  to  make  holiday;  and  the  general  shop  had  no- 

275 


276  The  Last  Day:   (2)  Two  o'Clock,  p.m. 

tices  about  lemonade,  biscuits,  and  ginger-beer  pasted 
up  outside  its  window  with  such  thick  paste  that  the 
wasps  seemed  to  have  come  prematurely  into  season 
merely  in  order  to  enjoy  the  feast;  while  the  pro- 
prietor, who  had  hoped  further  to  attract  custom  by 
standing  at  the  door  in  a  white  apron,  was  swearing 
in  his  back  parlor  with  a  blue-bag  pressed  firmly  to 
his  thrice-stung  head. 

But  it  was  the  grounds  of  The  Ashlands — when 
you  had  passed  the  lodge-gate  where  the  Hetchingham 
policeman  stood  issuing  tickets,  and  getting  a  good 
deal  muddled  about  the  change,  though  the  entrance 
fee  was  the  round  sum  of  a  shilling  (children  six- 
pence)— that  struck  you,  as  Mrs.  Cleavin  said  to  Mr. 
Dunt,  as  they  passed  through  the  gate  together,  "  all 
of  a  heap." 

"  Of  course,  I  know'd,"  said  Mrs.  Cleavin,  "  that 
it  'ud  be  lookin'  nice,  this  time  o'  year.  But  I  never 
did  think  they'd  a  got  it  so  gorgeous  as  this.  Cocoa- 
nut  shies,  I  do  declare,  and  a  merry-come-up." 

"  Merry-go-round,"  suggested  Mr.  Dunt. 

"  That's  when  they  haven't  got  birds  for  hosses,  isn't 
it,"  said  Mrs.  Cleavin.  "  Do  but  look  at  the  'chine 
there." 

The  machine  in  question  was  a  tall  obelisk,  with 
numbers  up  the  face  of  it,  and  a  springboard  in  front, 
which,  upon  being  struck  with  a  hammer,  caused  a 
metal  band  to  travel  up  the  obelisk  at  a  rapid  pace. 
The  harder  the  hammer  struck,  the  higher  was  the 
number  registered;  and  if  you  had  the  requisite 
strength,  you  could  drive  the  metal  hand  up  to  such 
a  height  that  a  bell  rang. 

"  I  do  declare  that  man's  a-goin'  to  ring  it,"  said 
Mrs.  Cleavin,  as  a  very  square  and  powerful  man  de- 


The  Last  Day:   (2)  Two  o'Clock,  p.m.   277 

livered  a  mighty  blow  with  the  hammer.  "  No,  he 
isn't.  Yes,  he  are." 

And,  sure  enough,  as  Bilks  brought  down  the 
hammer-head,  the  registering  hand  went  up  with  an 
incredible  rapidity,  and  the  bell  rang. 

"  There's  that  man  from  the  '  Sow  an'  Pigs '  going 
to  try  now,"  said  Mrs.  Cleavin,  "  the  one  as  lost  his 
horse  and  cart  t'other  day.  Oh,  he  haven't  rung  it." 

The  pink-faced  man,  who,  spurred  on  by  some 
fellow  coachman,  had  indeed  essayed  the  feat  of 
strength  so  successfully  performed  by  Bilks,  and  failed 
ignominiously,  retired,  pinker-faced  than  ever,  from 
before  the  obelisk,  cheered  by  various  small  boys. 

"  Let's  go  and  get  seats  for  the  play,"  said  Mrs. 
Cleavin  to  her  farmer.  "  I  do  love  a  play  more  than 
anythin',  and  they  say  Miss  Mallendon — Miss  Judy, 
as  my  friend  up  to  the  house  here  calls  'er — looks 
lovely  in  it.  It's  a-goin'  to  be  acted  be'ind  the  house, 
so  I'm  told,  in  the  garden  itself,  as  you  might. say." 

"What's  the  price  o'  seats?"  said  Mr.  Dunt. 

"  Threppence,  back  seats,"  said  Mrs.  Cleavin. 
"  They'll  do  nicely,  if  they  ain't  filled." 

They  were  not  filled,  as  it  happened,  though  very 
nearly  so,  and  Mrs.  Cleavin  and  Mr.  Dunt  secured 
very  comfortable  chairs  two  rows  from  the  back  on 
the  outside,  from  which  point,  as  Mrs.  Cleavin  ob- 
served, they  could  not  only  see  the  play  itself,  but  also 
all  the  people  in  front.  Mrs.  Cleavin,  familiar  with 
the  place,  enjoyed  herself  pointing  out  various  celebri- 
ties to  Mr.  Dunt,  who  spent  too  much  time  on  the 
land  really  to  know  who  was  who. 

"  There's  Sir  Jasper  Mallendon,"  she  said,  pointing 
cheerfully,  "  and  there's  Lady  Mallendon,  tall,  with 
the  gray  hair  an'  vi'lets  in  her  bonnet.  And,  I  do 


278   The  Last  Day:   (2)  Two  o'Clock,  p.m. 

declare,  if  Colonel  Glemmy  haven't  bin  an'  come. 
Somebody's  cottage  '11  have  to  pay  for  that,  unless 
they  let  'im  in  without  payment,  which  is  quite  likely, 
the  fam'lies  knowing  one  another.  An'  the  thin  lady 
in  the  gray  dress  a-speakin'  to  him  is  Mrs.  Mordant, 
and — whatever  be  the  matter,  Mr.  Dunt  ?  " 

Mr.  Dunt,  who  had  started  violently  in  his  seat  and 
half  risen,  sat  down  again  with  a  jerk. 

"  There's  th'  lad  as  fired  at  me  t'other  day  a-coming 
along  here,  I'm  dyshed  if  it  isn't,"  he  said,  breathing 
deeply. 

"  Where  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Cleavin. 

"  Theer."     Mr.  Dunt  pointed  with  a  square  finger. 

"  Why,  it  can't  never  be,"  said  Mrs.  Cleavin. 
"  That's  Master  Jimmy  Mallendon." 

"That's  the  lad,"  said  Mr.  Dunt  obstinately. 
"  And  I'm  goin'  to  teach  'im  summat  in  another 
minute.  Wait  till  he  comes  up — dyshe  'im — I'll  teach 
'im." 

"  Oh,  you  mustn't  go  an'  make  a  brawlin'  here, 
Mr.  Dunt.  You  really  mustn't,"  said  Mrs.  Cleavin 
anxiously. 

"Brawlin',"  said  Mr.  Dunt,  "or  no  brawlin',  I'll 
teach  'im."  He  gripped  the  sides  of  his  chair  to  keep 
himself  taut  for  the  supreme  moment  when  the 
unwitting  Jimmy,  who,  in  his  best  flannels,  and  with 
a  rose  in  his  buttonhole,  was  selling  programmes  down 
the  rows,  should  place  himself  within  his  grasp. 
Mrs.  Cleavin  hardly  knew  whether  to  cry  a  warning 
or  not,  as  Jimmy  drew  closer  and  closer  to  the  violent- 
minded  farmer. 

"  You  really  mustn't,"  she  murmured  again,  and 
shut  her  eyes  as  Jimmy,  stepping  easily  between  the 
chairs,  placed  himself,  so  to  speak,  in  the  lion's  mouth. 


The  Last  Day:   (2)  Two  o'Clock,  p.m.   279 

Jimmy  opened  his  eyes  as  he  simultaneously  drank 
in  the  farmer's  identity  and  his  purpose.  Mr.  Dunt 
had  unclenched  his  grip  of  the  chair,  and  his  fingers 
were  moving  to  the  front  of  Jimmy's  collar.  With  a 
happy  realization  of  the  emergency,  Jimmy  stood 
stock  still  and  slipped  a  programme  into  the  farmer's 
right  hand. 

"  Only  sixpence,"  he  said,  "  and  it  goes  to  a  charity, 
you  know.  Why,  here's  Mrs.  Cleavin,"  he  continued 
cheerfully.  "How  are  you,  Mrs.  Cleavin?  It's  very 
good  of  Mr.  Cleavin  to  buy  a  programme.  We  want 
the  money  badly,  you  know." 

"  Oh,  lor,  oh,  Master  Mallendon,  so  it  is,"  said 
Mrs.  Cleavin,  too  astounded  for  the  moment  to  correct 
Jimmy's  mistake.  Mr.  Dunt  was  holding  the  pro- 
gramme as  though  it  had  been  a  viper  suddenly 
dropped  upon  him  from  the  skies. 

"  Mr.  Cleavin's  looking  well,"  said  Jimmy. 

"  But  it  ain't  Mr.  Cleavin,"  said  Mrs.  Cleavin,  with 
a  blush.  "  This  is  Mr.  Dunt,  a  neighbor  o'  mine. 
I'm  a  widder  woman,  ye  see." 

"  Oh,  yes,  of  course,"  said  Jimmy.  "  I  don't  sup- 
pose you  will  be  for  ever,  though,  Mrs.  Cleavin.  What 
do  you  think,  Mr.  Dunt?" 

"  I'm  a-thinkin',"  said  Mr.  Dunt  slowly,  and  with 

much  effort,  "  I'm  a-thinkin' "  What  Mr.  Dunt 

was  thinking  was  not  destined  to  be  put  into  words, 
for  Mrs.  Cleavin  broke  in,  with  another  becoming 
blush: 

"  You  really  oughtn't  to  say  a  thing  like  that, 
Master  Mallendon.  You  really  oughtn't " 

"  Well,  I  expect  it's  done,"  said  Jimmy.  "  But  I 
won't  say  it  again,  if  you  think  I  oughtn't  to.  If 
Mr.  Cleavin,  I  mean  Mr.  Dunt,  has  found  that  six- 


280  The  Last  Day:   (2)  Two  o'Clock,  p.m. 

pence,  I'll  be  moving  on.  Thank  you.  Hope  you'll 
enjoy  the  play." 

And  to  Mrs.  Cleavin's  unbounded  amazement, 
Jimmy  moved  on,  the  richer  by  Mr.  Bunt's  sixpence, 
and  Mr.  Dunt  sat  as  though  cast  into  a  trance,  with 
his  mouth  slightly  open,  and  the  programme  still 
gripped  tightly  in  his  right  hand,  where  Jimmy  had 
placed  it. 

Mrs.  Cleavin  had  the  tact  to  say  nothing,  and,  as, 
a  couple  of  moments  afterwards,  O'Levin  came  upon 
the  stage,  in  the  capacity  of  manager,  to  make  an  an- 
nouncement preparatory  to  the  play  beginning,  the 
incident  terminated. 

O'Levin  said  that  he  had  to  crave  the  indulgence  of 
the  audience  on  behalf  of  one  of  the  actors. 

"  When  I  mintion,"  said  O'Levin,  unable  to  resist 
a  short  oration,  "  that  our  leading  shepherd,  who,  be- 
sides being  chief  of  the  chorus,  is,  perhaps,  the  natest 
dancer  of  the  flock,  received  upon  the  top  of  his  head 
— as  recently  as  1 1 145  last  night — a  blow  that  caused 
a  swelling  not  smaller  than  a  turkey's  egg,  I  feel  sure 
that  ye  will  forgive  any  shortcomings  that  may  ensue 
in  the  course  of  the  play.  A  turkey's  egg  on  the  top 
of  one's  head,  as  those  who  have  ever  tried  one  will 
be  the  first  to  admit,  is  not  calculated  to  stir  the 
corybantic  instinct,  even  if  ye  have  reduced  it — I  mane 
the  swelling — with  the  best  salt  butter,  and  a  pound 
and  a  half  of  rump  steak.  Our  shepherd  would,  in- 
dade,  in  the  opinion  of  many,  be  entitled  to  withdraw 
his  assistance  from  us  this  afternoon.  But  he  is  not 
only  a  shepherd,  he  is  not  only  chief  of  the  chorus 
and  a  nate  dancer,  he  is  more,  ladies  and  gentlemen, 
he  is,  if  I  may  use  the  expression  at  this  early  hour 
in  the  afternoon,  a  jolly  good  fellow.  Ladies  and 


The  Last  Day:   (2)  Two  o'Clock,  p.m.  281 

gentlemen,  I  refer  to  Mr.  Wormyer,  on  whose  behalf 
1  crave  your  indulgence  once  more  before  the  gong 
sounds  for  our  little  dhrama  to  commence." 

O'Levin's  speech  having  been  received  with  much 
clapping  of  hands  and  a  "  Bravo,  Wormyer,"  from 
Mr.  Bayford,  the  gong,  which  had  been  specially  de- 
vised by  O'Levin  to  supply  the  place  of  a  curtain,  did 
sound  and  the  play  began. 

It  is  not  incumbent  upon  us,  as  it  was  upon  those 
who  had  paid  threepence  for  their  seats,  to  follow  this 
dramatic  representation  of  the  simpler  life  through  all 
its  scenes,  enlivened  as  they  were  by  O'Levin  striking 
the  gong  whenever  any  one  forgot  his  words  or  came 
on  or  wouldn't  go  off  at  the  right  moment.  Rather, 
at  another  part  of  the  field,  we  will  follow  a  conversa- 
tion (since  it  throws  some  light — for  the  observant — 
on  certain  events  that  were  to  follow) — we  will  follow 
a  conversation  there  that  was  taking  place  be- 
tween Police-Constable  Bigstock  and  the  pink-faced 
man. 

Police-Constable  Bigstock  was  on  duty.  He  had 
been  borrowed  from  Waybury  to  keep  that  order 
which,  unaided  and  confronted  by  such  crowds  of 
people,  the  local  policeman  would  have  been  unable  to 
enforce.  Strolling  from  point  to  point,  Mr.  Bigstock 
cuffed  mischievous  boys,  directed  inquiring  ladies, 
arbitrated  in  disputes  concerning  cocoanuts  with  an 
austere  dignity  that  moved  the  Hetchingham  man,  a 
younger  and  meeker  person,  to  shrink  into  his  tunic 
even  more  than — being  thin  himself  and  having  suc- 
ceeded a  stout  man  in  his  post — he  naturally  would 
have  done.  In  the  course  of  one  of  his  rounds,  Mr. 
Bigstock  espied  the  pink-faced  man,  and  not  having 
come  into  contact  with  him  since  they  had  accom- 


282  The  Last  Day:   (2)  Two  o'Clock,  p.m. 

panied  Jimmy  to  The  Ashlands  together,  greeted  him 
with  a  friendly  patronage: 

"  Well,  Sam,"  he  said,  "  how  'a'  you  bin  gettin'  on 
since  I  tracked  that  there  hoss  an'  cart  for  you  ?  " 

"  Awright,  thank'ee,"  said  the  pink-faced  man. 

"  Druv'  over  here,  I  s'pose?"  said  Mr.  Bigstock. 

"  Twice,"  said  the  pink-faced  man.  "  I  druv'  the 
Chinyman  what  they're  puttin'  up  the  tent  for  early 
this  mornin'  from  Waybury  Station,  and  I've  druv' 
the  lady  with  the  little  dawg  this  arternoon.  I  did 
think,"  said  the  pink-faced  man,  who  having  failed 
at  the  strength-machine  once,  had  prudently  reserved 
the  rest  of  his  loose  cash  for  refreshments,  and  was 
therefore  in  a  confidential  mood,  "  I  did  think  as 
there'd  be  another  job  for  you  with  that  there  Chiny- 
man." 

"  How  was  that,  Sam  ? "  asked  Mr.  Bigstock 
gravely. 

"  Why,  I  nearly  lost  'im.  Thought  I  had — same 
as  the  hoss  an'  cart.  And  it  wouldn't  'a'  bin  my  fault 
any  more  than  what  that  was.  I  druv'  'im  straight 
enough,  an'  at  the  halfway  'ouse " 

"  You  stopped  for  a  drink,"  said  the  sleuth-hound. 

"  No,  I  didn't,"  said  the  pink-faced  man.  "  A 
genelman  stopped  us.  That's  how  it  was.  Held  up 
his  hand — it  was  just  afore  we  come  to  the  halfway 
'ouse " 

"  I  knew  you  hadn't  come  to  it,"  said  Mr.  Big- 
stock. 

"  Held  up  'is  hand  and  began  a-jabbering  to  the 
Chinyman  in  Chiny.  Leastways,  it  wasn't  nothin'  I've 
ever  heard  afore.  Arter  'e'd  jabbered  a  lot  and  the 
Chinyman  'ad  jabbered  back,  says  the  Chinyman  to 
me,  '  You  wait  'ere  a  bit/  says  he " 


The  Last  Day:   (2)  Two  o'Clock,  p.m.   283 

"  In  Chiny  ?  "  queried  Mr.  Bigstock. 

"  No,  I  shouldn't  'a'  understood  'im  if  he'd  said  it 
in  Chiny,"  said  the  pink-faced  man.  "  'E  said  it  in 
English — same  as  I'm  sayin'  it  to  you  now — '  You 
wait  'ere  a  bit,'  says  'e.  '  I'm  a-gittin'  out.'  And  out 
'e  gits,  what's  more,  and  goes  off  with  the  genelman 
— why — for  the  matter  o'  half  an  hour  or  more — 
leavin'  me  standin'  there  in  the  mid  o'  the  road.  I 
thought  'e  was  lost  for  certain " 

"  I  shouldn't  wonder  but  what  'e'd  gone  on  to  have 
a  drink  at  the  halfway  'ouse,"  said  Mr.  Bigstock. 
"  'E  didn't  want  you  to  see :  that's  what  it  was. 
They're  shy  birds,  them  Chinies." 

"  It  might  'a'  been  that,"  said  the  pink-faced  man 
argumentatively.  "  But  if  'e'd  bin  havin'  a  drink,  why 
did  'e  look  thinner  when  'e  come  back  than  when  'e 
went  away?  " 

"  If  'e  did,"  said  Mr.  Bigstock,  who  disliked  argu- 
ment, "  it  was  the  heat  made  'im.  You  can  take  it 
from  me,  Sam,  it  was  the  heat  did  it.  They  ain't 
used  to  that." 

"  Ain't  they?  "  said  the  pink- faced  man. 

"  No,"  said  Mr.  Bigstock  decisively,  "  they  ain't, 
and  they  don't  keer  for  it.  I  could  ha'  told  you  that 
from  the  fust,  if  you  hadn't  dragged  your  story  out 
so.  You  take  too  long  tellin'  a  story,  Sam.  It 
wouldn't  do  for  the  witness-box — that  draggin'  out 
wouldn't." 

Thus  squashed,  the  pink-faced  man  volunteered  no 
further  information.  He  had  been  about  to  inform 
Mr.  Bigstock  how  on  his  return  to  Waybury  he  had 
come  across  the  owner  of  the  wardrobe  lost  on  the 
previous  occasion,  and  how  he  had  seemed  quite  a 
different  sort  of  man,  chatty  and  agreeable.  But  the 


284   The  Last  Day:   (2)  Two  o'Clock,  p.m. 

pink-faced  man,  being  squashed,  did  not  inform  Mr. 
Bigstock  of  this.  Nor  consequently  did  he  inform 
him  that  Captain  Bunbury,  on  being  told  of  the  affair 
of  the  Chinaman  and  his  apparent  shrinkage  in  girth, 
had  offered  quite  a  different  solution  of  the  story. 
Captain  Bunbury  had  said  that  probably  the  China- 
man had  been  distended  in  the  first  instance  by  an 
air-belt  which  Chinamen  often  wore  to  keep  off  the 
rheumatism — a  malady  to  which  they  were  very  sub- 
ject— and  that  during  his  walk  the  air  had  escaped 
from  the  belt. 

It  was  a  more  interesting  solution  than  Mr.  Big- 
stock's,  especially  as  the  pink-faced  man  suffered  from 
rheumatism  himself. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV 

THE   LAST   DAY — (3) — FIVE   O'CLOCK   P.M. 
THE   BOOTH    OF    CHY   FANG 

THERE  had  been  some  discussion  as  to  when  the 
booth  or  tent  of  the  Chinese  juggler  should  be  opened; 
and  it  had  been  finally  settled  that  it  should  not  be 
opened  until  after  the  play  was  over,  as  competition 
was  not  to  be  encouraged,  when  every  penny  was 
valuable. 

"  If  Mr.  Fang,"  as  Lady  Mallendon  prudently  re- 
marked, "  does  his  tricks  at  the  same  time  as  the  play 
is  being  acted,  people  will  either  go  to  him  instead 
of  the  play,  or  they  will  go  to  the  play  instead  of  to 
him — neither  of  which  things  is  desirable.  Besides, 
as  he  wrote  to  say,  he  would  require  some  time  to  fit 
up  his  booth,  and,  I  suppose,  rest  his  rabbits  and  things 
after  the  train  journey." 

It  was  not  until  four  o'clock,  therefore,  that  the 
booth  of  Chy  Fang  was  officially  declared  to  be 
opened,  and  Chy  Fang,  according  to  an  inscription  out- 
side, was  prepared  to  Read  the  Future  and  Exhibit  the 
Mysteries  of  Crystal-Gazing  and  other  White  Magics 
to  such  people  as  might  elect  to  pay  sixpence  entrance 
fee.  Later  in  the  evening  he  was  to  give  two  or  three 
successive  entertainments  in  the  conjuring  line  to  a 
larger  public. 

"  It  was  his  own  idea,"  said  Lady  Mallendon  to 
Mr.  Maxhaven,  O'Levin's  American  friend,  who  had 
come  over  from  some  distance  in  order  to  see  how 

285 


286   The  Last  Day:   (3)   Five  o'clock,  p.m. 

an  English  country  fete  was  conducted,  "  to  Read  the 
Future  first.  He  said  that  conjuring  went  so  much 
better  later  in  the  day,  and  he  is  so  anxious  to  do  his 
best  for  the  charity." 

"  Is  he  ?  "  said  Mr.  Maxhaven.  "  He  must  be  a 
model  Chink  then.  Out  West  they  don't  care,  as  a 
rule,  what  time  of  the  day  they  begin  conjuring,  and 
they're  mostly  concerned  for  the  charity  that  begins 
at  home — if  you  can  call  it  home." 

"  Really?  "  said  Lady  Mallendon.  "  I  suppose  the 
Chinese  are  not  in  general  very  nice  people.  But  Mr. 
Fang  is  really  charming.  I  wonder  how  he  is  getting 
on.  Shall  we  go  and  see  ?  " 

"  Sure,"  said  Mr.  Maxhaven. 

The  booth  had  been  erected  by  Fang's  desire  in  the 
front  of  the  house,  abutting  on  the  drive.  It  was 
a  spot  that  would  take  the  twilight  early,  and  enable 
the  Chinese  lanterns,  with  which  Fang  had  provided 
himself,  to  be  lit  effectively  almost  earlier  than  any- 
where else.  The  tent  itself  was  adorned  with  pic- 
tures of  dragons  and  slimy  twisting  creatures,  such 
as  only  exist  in  the  Chinese  imagination,  and — if  we 
may  believe  the  revelations  of  the  microscope — in 
some  of  our  London  water  supplies. 

Paying  their  sixpences  to  the  custodian  of  the  tent, 
Lady  Mallendon  and  Mr.  Maxhaven  entered,  and 
found  themselves  in  a  roselit  gloom,  which  a  skilful 
arrangement  of  mirrors  mystified  considerably.  Vari- 
ous emblems  of  celestial  origin  and  make  were  strewn 
about,  and  on  a  pile  of  cushions  on  the  ground  at  the 
back  of  the  tent  sat  the  Chinaman  himself.  He  had 
on  the  most  magnificent  and  voluminous  silken  robe,  in 
which  birds  and  beasts  and  flowers  pursued  each  other 
in  a  labyrinthine  pattern,  and  on  his  head  was  a  hat 


The  Last  Day:   (3)   Five  o'clock,  p.m.    287 

like  a  beehive  with  side  curtains  that  concealed  his 
face.  At  his  feet  was  a  bowl  filled  with  inky  liquor, 
and  a  small  cauldron  emitting  snapdragon  flames. 
Also  at  his  feet,  both  literally  and  figuratively — for 
he  was  seated  on  a  cushion,  shaking  like  a  jelly — was 
a  small  foxy-faced  elderly  man,  no  other  indeed  than 
Mr.  Green,  who  kept  the  second-hand  furniture  shop 
at  Waybury. 

"  It  was  a  fair  price  for  that  there  wardrobe — it 
was  indeed,"  he  was  saying,  in  a  supplicating  voice, 
as  Lady  Mallendon  and  Mr.  Maxhaven  entered. 

"  The  bowl  says  otherwise." 

"  P'r'aps  it  ain't  working  right,"  said  Mr.  Green, 
with  a  miserable  attempt  at  self-comfort.  "  It  was  a 
fine  bit  of  oak — that  wardrobe  was — a  fine  bit:  real 
good  workmanship." 

"  The  just  tradesman  doubleth  not  his  price  at  the 
moment  of  a  customer's  need." 

"  I  wouldn't  ha'  let  it  go  under  eight  pound  to  any- 
body," said  Mr.  Green. 

"  Six  was  the  sum  of  fairness." 

"  No,  it  warn't,"  said  Mr.  Green,  stuttering.  "  Oh, 
lor !  "  The  snapdragon  had  begun  to  spit  and  splutter 
in  the  fiercest  way.  Flames  darted  at  Mr.  Green's 
legs ;  they  rose  higher  and  higher ;  a  fizzing  noise  made 
itself  heard. 

"  Beware !  "  said  Chy  Fang,  in  a  thrilling  voice. 
"Fly!" 

Mr.  Green  fled  without  more  ado,  and  the  flames 
instantly  subsided.  From  behind  his  beehive  hat  Chy 
Fang  serenely  regarded  Lady  Mallendon  and  Mr. 
Maxhaven. 

"  Neat  trick,"  said  the  latter  approvingly.  "  You 
seem  to  have  struck  the  old  fellow's  weak  point,  too." 


288   The  Last  Day:   (3)   Five  o'Clock,  p.m. 

"  Yes,  indeed,"  said  Lady  Mallendon,  much  im- 
pressed. "  I  am  afraid  he  cannot  have  been  quite  an 
honest  man.  But  I  don't  know,  Mr.  Fang,  whether — 
as  it's  for  a  charity,  you  see — you  ought  to  frighten 
people  too  much.  It  might  get  about  and  prevent 
them  from  coming  in.  Of  course  it  is  very  wonderful 
and  magical,  but  I  almost  think  " — Lady  Mallendon 
dropped  into  her  pidgin  English  at  this  point  for  the 
sake  of  emphasis — "  not  too  muchee  frightenee." 

Chy  Fang  nodded  gravely. 

"  There  are  few  who  deserve  fear,"  he  said.  "  For 
them  it  is  good.  For  the  rest  they  shall  see  only  what 
is  fair  and  pleasant.  Shall  the  bowl  show  your 
eminence  the  rewards  of  the  kindly  heart?" 

"  Oh,  no,  thank  you,"  said  Lady  Mallendon,  not  ill- 
pleased.  "  We  only  came  really  to  see  how  you  were 
getting  on." 

"  Shall  the  bowl  show  the  niece  of  your  eminence 
what  is  in  her  heart?"  asked  Chy  Fang  dispassion- 
ately. "  The  hearts  of  maidens  are  not  always  clear 
to  the  maidens'  own  eyes." 

Lady  Mallendon  hesitated. 

"  What  would  the  bowl  show  ?  "  she  inquired. 

"  Truth,"  said  the  Chinaman  briefly. 

"  Oh,  that  would  be  very  nice,"  said  Lady  Mallen- 
don. "  Most  interesting.  I  suppose  it — it "  She 

paused.  "  I'll  ask  my  niece  if  she  wouldn't  like  to 
come  and  see  the  bowl.  I'm  afraid  we  must  be  going 
on  now,  Mr.  Fang.  I  really  think,"  she  continued  to 
Mr.  Maxhaven,  as  they  went  out  into  the  open  again, 
"  that  he's  very  marvelous.  I  wonder  if  there  can 
really  be  any  magic  in  it  ?  " 

Mr.  Maxhaven  assured  her  that  it  was  only  smart 
faking. 


The  Last  Day:  (3)  Five  o'Clock,  p.m.   289 

"  In  that  case,"  said  Lady  Mallendon,  "  I  believe 
that  Mr.  Fang  could  do  us  a  great  service,  Mr.  Max- 
haven," — Lady  Mallendon  had  one  of  her  bursts  of 
confidence.  "  I  dare  say  you  know  that  my  niece  and 
Mr.  Blenkenstein  are — well,  they  are  very  nearly  en- 
gaged. It  is  quite  a  love  affair,  if  you  will  excuse  my 
mentioning  a  private  matter,  only  Judith,  we  fancy, 
cannot  quite  make  up  her  mind.  Now  don't  you  think 
that  if  Mr.  Blenkenstein  and  Judith  were  to  go  to- 
gether to  the  booth,  and  Mr.  Fang  was  to  show  her — 
in  the  bowl,  you  know,  that  Mr.  Blenkenstein — do  you 
see  what  I  mean?  " 

Mr.  Maxhaven  allowed  that  he  did. 

"  It  would  so  simplify  matters — for  all  of  us,"  said 
Lady  Mallendon.  "  Only,  of  course,  it  would  be 
dreadful  if  Mr.  Fang,  or  the  bowl,  didn't  understand 
what  was  wanted,  and  made  a  mistake." 

"  If  you  like,"  said  Mr.  Maxhaven,  with  ready 
good  humor,  "  I'll  go  back  and  give  him  a  hint  right 
now.  He'll  be  only  too  glad  to  oblige.  There's  noth- 
ing a  Chink  won't  do  to  oblige." 

"  It's  exceedingly  kind  of  you,"  said  Lady  Mallen- 
don gratefully.  "  If  you  will  just  give  him  to  under- 
stand how  things  are,  I'll  go  and  suggest  to  Mr.  Blen- 
kenstein that  he  should  take  Judith  to  the  booth.  It 
is  really  well  worth  seeing,  isn't  it  ?  " 

Lady  Mallendon  hurried  off,  and  Mr.  Maxhaven 
retraced  his  steps  to  the  booth.  There  was  a  slight 
altercation  going  on  between  the  custodian  of  the 
booth  and  a  tall  old  lady,  who  had  a  stout  small  dog  at 
the  end  of  a  string,  as  he  came  up. 

"  I  cannot  believe,"  the  old  lady  was  saying,  "  that 
there  could  be  any  objection  to  Monarch's  going  in 
with  me.  I  am  quite  willing  to  pay  sixpence  for  him, 


290   The  Last  Day:   (3)   Five  o'clock,  p.m. 

if  necessary,  but  I  will  not  leave  him  alone  outside. 
I  appeal  to  this  gentleman  " — she  indicated  Mr.  Max- 
haven,  who  had  politely  waited  till  her  business  should 
be  over, — "  to  say  if  there  could  be  any  possible  ob- 
jection to  my  little  dog  going  in  with  me." 

"  Ma'am,"  said  Mr.  Maxhaven,  with  a  rich  polite- 
ness, "  I  guess  if  you  won't  go  in  without  the  little 
dog,  the  Chinee  will  have  to  welcome  the  little  dog. 
But  if  you'll  allow  me  to  precede  you  one  moment, 
I'll  fix  it  by  asking  Chy  personally  what  his  feelings 
are." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Miss  Faviel,  and  Mr.  Max- 
haven  went  in. 

"  Say,  boy,"  he  said  to  the  magician,  with  an  easy 
disrespect,  born  of  a  familiarity  with  yellow  men  of 
the  West,  "  here's  a  dollar  for  you,  and  when  you're 
fixing  the  ink-pot  for  a  young  lady,  Miss  Mallendon, — 
I  guess  you  know  her,  as  you  spoke  about  her  awhile 
back — and  the  big  man  with  her,  remember  he's  her 
beau.  Savvy?" 

"The  big  man  loves  the  niece  of  her  eminence?" 
asked  Chy  Fang. 

"  Sure,"  said  Mr.  Maxhaven.  "  And  don't  you 
forget  it!  And  it'll  help  her  a  lot  if  you  make  the 
ink-pot  show  what  a  time  she'll  have  with  him,  if 
she's  only  sharp.  Sure  you  savvy?  " 

The  Chinaman  bowed  with  dignity. 

"  That's  all  right,  then,"  said  Mr.  Maxhaven,  turn- 
ing to  go.  "  By  the  way,  there's  a  lady  wants  to  come 
in  with  her  dog,  and  the  box-office  man  won't  let  her. 
Shall  I  tell  him  to  cut  it  out  ?  " 

"  The  lady  may  enter,"  said  Chy  Fang,  with  a 
dignity  which  Mr.  Maxhaven  almost  resented. 


CHAPTER  XXXV 

THE  LAST  DAY (4) SIX  O'CLOCK  P.M.      THE  FLIGHT 

FROM    THE   BOOTH 

BLENKENSTEIN  scarcely  knew  whether  to  be  an- 
noyed or  not  that  he  had  yielded  to  Lady  Mallendon's 
suggestion  that  he  should  escort  Judith  to  the  China- 
man's tent  and  go  through  the  mummery  of  seeing  the 
future  in  her  company.  He  did  not  believe  in  seeing 
the  future,  and  he  did  not  suppose  Judith  was  much 
more  credulous  than  himself.  But  then  Lady  Mallen- 
don  had  hurriedly  explained  the  strategy  and  had 
ended  by  saying  it  would  be  such  an  opportunity.  An 
opportunity  was  what  Blenkenstein  craved.  Some- 
how, though  the  play  had  been  at  an  end  for  an  hour 
or  more,  and  he  had  decided  that  he  would  and  could 
wait  no  longer  for  his  answer  from  Judith,  the  psy- 
chological moment  for  putting  his  question  did  not 
seem  yet  to  have  arrived.  He  did  not  know  how  to 
put  it  into  words — this  feeling  of  his  that  kept  him 
back.  He  was  not  sure,  indeed,  if  it  was  something 
in  himself  or  something  in  her  that  made  him  linger. 
With  the  last  link  only  to  be  forged,  it  seemed  as  if 
he  had  become  in  some  way  paralyzed.  Perhaps  it  was 
modesty  that  had  been  born  in  him  for  the  first  time 
— born  of  the  prospect  of  undeserved  and  unutterably 
sweet  success.  Perhaps  it  was  the  beginning  of  the 
fear  of  unutterably  bitter  failure.  If  it  was  Judith's 
fault  that  he  held  back,  it  was  not  because  she  was 

291 


292   The  Last  Day:   (4)   Six  o'Clock,  p.m. 

unfriendly.  She  had  been  most  gracious  to  him  since 
his  return,  and  provokingly  gay  therewithal.  She  had 
a  look  of  expectancy  about  her — expectancy  of  what  ? 
The  time  she  had  fixed  was  up.  Had  she  come  more 
than  halfway  to  meet  him?  Was  she — could  she  be 
inviting  him  to  question  her  again  ?  Or  could  she,  by 
some  horrible  chance,  be  expecting  the  end  of  the 
period  fixed  by  the  wager? 

Blenkenstein  hardly  dared  to  think  out  the  answers 
to  these  questions,  which  kept  recurring  as  they  walked 
together  towards  the  booth.  At  one  moment  he 
thought  that  instead  of  going  on,  he  would  lead  her  out 
of  the  traffic  of  people  into  some  quiet  place,  and  then 
boldly  make  his  proposal.  At  the  next  he  decided  that 
Lady  Mallendon  was  right.  The  elementary  methods 
of  the  fortune-teller  that  had  ended  in  lovers  meeting 
a  million  times  in  days  of  superstition  would  serve 
him  as  an  opportunity  now.  He  would  not  let  it 
slip. 

A  dark  handsome  old  lady  with  a  yapping  dog  was 
coming  out  of  the  booth  as  they  entered,  and  it  struck 
Blenkenstein  as  not  altogether  a  good  omen  when  he 
heard  Judith  address  her  as  Miss  Faviel.  He  had 
heard  of  her  and  her  futile  pursuit  of  her  nephew. 
He  wished  she  could  find  him  now,  or,  say,  in  about 
half  an  hour's  time.  Blenkenstein  would  save  his 
money,  if  she  could,  as  well  as  marry  Judith.  He  had 
no  hope  personally  that  Faviel  would  behave  so  ridic- 
lously  as  to  turn  up  that  day. 

Miss  Faviel,  it  seemed,  was  in  a  hurry. 

"  Have  you  seen  Mr.  Wilton  anywhere  ? "  she 
wanted  to  know.  "  I'm  very  anxious  to  get  hold  of 
him  at  once." 

Judith   said  that  she  had  seen   Mr.   Wilton,   she 


The  Last  Day:   (4)   Six  o'Clock,  p.m.      293 

thought,  walking  round  the  gardens  with  Miss  Etta 
Warley. 

"  Shall  I  send  one  of  the  men  to  look  for  him?" 
she  suggested. 

"  Oh,  no,  thank  you,"  said  Miss  Faviel.  "  I'll  go 
myself.  It's  very  kind  of  you  to  suggest  it,  but  I 
expect  that  will  be  the  quickest.  It's  particularly  im- 
portant." 

She  hurried  off  at  a  rate  that  made  Monarch  quite 
choke ;  and  Blenkenstein  and  Judith  entered  the  booth 
together.  The  dim  rose  light  inside  was  dimmer  now 
than  when  Lady  Mallendon  had  visited  it,  and  the 
cauldron's  flames  crackled  low  and  unsteadily.  The 
face  of  Chy  Fang  was  almost  invisible  behind  the  cur- 
tains of  his  hat.  He  paid  no  attention  to  Blenken- 
stein, but  made  a  deep  obeisance  to  Judith,  and  said, 
in  his  grave  monotonous  voice — 

"  The  niece  of  her  eminence  wishes  to  see  into  the 
future?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Judith  graciously. 

"  She  wishes,  perhaps,  to  see  the  face  of  her  lover 
in  the  Pool  of  Blackness?" 

Judith,  it  seemed,  had  not  expected  any  question 
quite  so  old-fashioned  and  direct.  She  hesitated,  and 
but  that  the  light  was  altogether  rosy,  it  seemed  that 
the  rose  in  her  cheeks  was  deeper  for  the  moment. 

"  Perhaps,"  she  said,  a  little  uneasily. 

"  If  you're  sure  you  can  show  it,"  said  Blenken- 
stein. "  It's  exactly  what  I  want  Miss  Mallendon  to 
see."  His  courage  went  up  as  hers  went  down.  He 
felt  like  seizing  her  hand  and  pressing  it.  He  deter- 
mined that  at  the  right  moment  he  would  seize  and 
press  it. 

"  It  can  be  done,"  said  Chy  Fang.    "  But  there  is 


294   The  Last  Day:   (4)   Six  o'Clock,  p.m. 

one  caution  needful.  Only  the  maiden  may  look  into 
the  pool,  and  no  other  face  must  cross  it.  Will  his 
eminence  therefore  stand  with  his  back  to  the 
bowl?" 

For  a  moment  Blenkenstein  was  disposed  to  contest 
this  direction;  but,  inferring,  from  the  arrangement  of 
mirrors  on  the  sides  of  the  tent,  that  the  trick  was  to 
consist  in  getting  him  into  some  position  which  would 
reflect  his  face  in  the  pool  in  a  manner  that  would 
to  the  ignorant  seem  magical,  he  turned  his  back 
obediently. 

Judith,  with  her  eyes  fixed  on  the  bowl,  became 
aware  that  the  cauldron  had  begun  to  spout  flames. 
Higher  and  higher  they  rose,  till  it  almost  seemed  the 
canvas  overhead  must  catch  fire.  Then  suddenly  the 
Chinaman,  who,  like  Blenkenstein,  had  turned  his  back 
on  the  bowl,  bent  over  it  sideways;  and  a  face  ap- 
peared in  the  inky  liquor. 

"  Mr.  Faviel !  "  cried  Judith,  in  amaze. 

Before  Blenkenstein,  in  sudden  realization  of  the 
trick  that  had  been  played  upon  him,  could  swing 
round,  the  cauldron  had  fizzed  out,  and  a  sweet  smoke 
was  pouring  from  the  embers.  It  came  so  blindingly 
fast  that  in  a  few  seconds  the  further  end  of  the  tent, 
to  which  the  Chinaman  had  darted,  was  in  a  mist; 
and  Blenkenstein  stumbled  and  fell  over  something, 
that  was  in  all  probability  some  of  the  juggling  proper- 
ties the  pseudo  Chy  Fang  had  brought  with  him.  As 
he  picked  himself  up,  there  came  a  puff  of  air  from 
the  back  of  the  tent.  Through  a  lifted  flap  of  the 
canvas,  Faviel,  with  his  Chinese  robes  discarded,  was 
vanishing. 

"  You'd  better  go  out  at  the  front,"  said  Blenken- 
stein roughly,  to  Judith.  "  Something's  happened,  and 


The  Last  Day:   (4)   Six  o'Clock,  p.m.      295 

the  man's  bolted."  He  did  not  know  if  she  under- 
stood what  had  happened,  or  not.  It  was  possible  that 
Faviel's  identity  with  the  Chinaman  had  not  struck 
her.  She  could  hardly  have  seen  him  in  that  moment 
of  his  disappearing. 

She  went  out  at  the  front  obediently,  while 
Blenkenstein  found  the  flap  at  the  back,  and  crept 
through  it.  The  back  of  the  tent  opened  almost 
directly  upon  a  shrubbery  which  Faviel  had  just  en- 
tered. The  bushes  were  indeed  shaking  in  Faviel's 
wake,  as  Blenkenstein  emerged. 

Most  men  in  the  madness  of  anger  which  possessed 
Blenkenstein  would  have  followed  their  enemy  with- 
out pause;  but  Blenkenstein,  even  in  his  rage,  retained 
the  gift  of  calculation.  He  wanted  to  confound  his 
enemy  as  much  as  any  man;  but  he  wanted  to  catch 
him  first.  Single-handed  he  could  not  hope  to  do  it. 
Single-handed  he  would  not  have  dared  to  try  it.  In 
the  hope  of  lighting  upon  Coppenwell  or  Bilks  he  ran 
round  to  the  front  of  the  tent. 

Fortune,  it  seemed,  was  to  favor  his  cunning.  At- 
tracted by  the  clouds  of  smoke  which  were  rolling  up 
from  the  tent,  and  by  the  door-keeper's  shouts,  (the 
door-keeper  had  imagined  from  Judith's  startled 
egress  that  the  tent  had  caught  fire),  a  crowd  of 
people  was  hurrying  up  from  all  directions.  The  two 
men  he  was  looking  for  were  almost  the  first  Blen- 
kenstein saw,  and  he  beckoned  them  aside,  as  the 
others  plunged  into  the  tent  with  a  view  to  rescuing 
the  presumably  asphyxiated  Chinaman. 

"  He's  gone  this  way,"  said  Blenkenstein,  hurrying 
his  men  round  at  a  speed  not  so  great  as  to  attract 
attention. 

"  X)o?  "  asked  Coppenwell. 


296   The  Last  Day:  (4)   Six  o'Clock,  p.m. 

"  Faviel,  less  than  a  minute  ago.  There !  the 
bushes  are  still  moving." 

A  more  exact  calculation  might  have  led  Blenken- 
stein  to  the  reflection  that  the  bushes  through  which 
he  and  his  men  were  making  their  way  could  hardly 
be  quivering  as  they  were  from  the  effect  of  Faviel's 
flight.  Two  minutes  had  elapsed  at  least  since  he 
plunged  into  the  shrubbery.  And  the  bushes  were  as 
a  matter  of  fact  responding  to  the  shock  of  a  person 
who  had  passed  less  than  a  minute  before. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI 

THE   LAST   DAY — (5) — BETWEEN    SIX   AND  SEVEN 

O'CLOCK   P.M.      IN   THE   WOODS   OUTSIDE 

THE   ASHLANDS 

Miss  FAVIEL  was  last  shown  hurrying  from  the 
booth  with  Monarch  at  the  end  of  a  string,  yapping 
excitedly.  Miss  Faviel's  haste  and  Monarch's  excite- 
ment were  due  to  the  same  cause — namely,  that  they 
had  pierced  the  disguise  of  Chy  Fang. 

Miss  Faviel  had  arrived  at  The  Ashlands  in  a  highly 
detective  spirit.  Early  that  morning,  and  before  she 
had  started  from  the  "  Sow  and  Pigs,"  at  Waybury, 
she  had  had  a  visitor,  who,  giving  his  name  as  Captain 
Bunbury,  had  insisted  upon  seeing  her.  Miss  Faviel's 
surprise  was  considerable  when,  upon  being  shown 
up,  Captain  Bunbury  had  undertaken  to  discover  her 
nephew  for  her  by  the  next  day  at  latest  in  return 
for  the  trifling  consideration  of  a  hundred  pounds. 
It  says  much  for  Mr.  Boke's  sagacity  that,  having 
been  thrown  over  by  Blenkenstein,  he  should  have  con- 
ceived this  simple  method  of  reimbursing  himself.  It 
was  so  simple,  that  he  wondered  he  had  not  thought 
of  it  before.  For  it  involved  him  in  no  trouble — put 
practically  no  responsibility  upon  him  at  all.  By  the 
terms  of  the  wager,  which  by  this  time  Mr.  Boke  had 
mostly  at  his  fingers'  ends,  Mr.  Faviel  would  turn 
up  to-morrow  in  any  case.  He  would,  in  fact,  dis- 
cover himself.  But  Miss  Faviel,  of  course,  did  not 
know  that. 

297 


298  The  Last  Day:   (5)   Six  and  Seven,  p.m. 

She  closed  with  Captain  Bunbury's  offer,  in  spite 
of  the  fact  that  he  offered  no  explanation  in  re- 
sponse either  to  entreaties  or  threats,  the  more  read- 
ily since,  as  Captain  Bunbury  himself  pointed  out, 
she  would  lose  nothing  if  her  nephew  did  not 
turn  up — he  did  not  ask  for  the  hundred  pounds  in 
advance. 

"  If  that's  not  a  good  enough  guarantee,  ma'am, 
I  don't  know  what  is." 

"  But  if  you  can  restore  him  to  me  to-morrow," 
said  Miss  Faviel,  "  you  must  know  where  he  is  at 
present." 

"  It  doesn't  follow,  ma'am,  not  a  bit  of  it,"  said 
Captain  Bunbury  frankly.  "  And,  anyway,  knowing 
where  he  is,  is  different  from  letting  other  people 
know.  I  don't,  ma'am,  to  speak  the  truth,  I  don't  be- 
lieve in  too  many  people  being  in  a  secret." 

Miss  Faviel  could  get  no  more  out  of  him.  Truth 
to  tell,  Mr.  Boke  had  one  fear.  The  only  way  by 
which  his  bargain  could  possibly  fall  through  was  by 
Blenkenstein  and  his  late  colleagues  discovering  what 
Mr.  Boke  had  discovered  from  his  purely  accidental 
chat  with  the  pink- faced  man;  the  fact  that  Mr. 
Faviel,  for  the  purpose  of  visiting  The  Ashlands,  had 
changed  places  with  his  friend  and  protege,  the  Chinese 
conjurer.  This  trick  of  Mr.  Faviel's  increased  an 
admiration  for  him  which  had  been  growing  in  Mr. 
Boke's  breast  for  some  time  past.  It  was,  Mr.  Boke 
considered,  one  of  the  subtlest  and  most  sporting  at- 
tempts that  he  had  ever  heard  of.  True,  if  he — Boke 
— had  still  been  against  him,  Mr.  Faviel  would  have 
ruined  his  chances  at  the  last  moment  by  this  exchange 
of  identities ;  but  then  Mr.  Boke  no  longer  was  against 
him.  And  in  any  case,  the  pink-faced  man's  gossip 


The  Last  Day:   (5)   Six  and  Seven,  p.m.  299 

was  one  of  the  sort  of  accidents  that  the  most 
sagacious  could  hardjy  reckon  with. 

Nevertheless  there  undoubtedly  remained  chances 
of  Mr.  Faviel's  being  found  out,  and  Mr.  Boke  deter- 
mined to  keep  a  watch  in  his  interests.  He  had  seen 
enough  of  Blenkenstein,  and  he  knew  enough  of  Cop- 
penwell  and  Bilks,  to  be  conscious  that  they  would  stop 
at  very  little  in  order  to  have  their  revenge.  He  did 
not  suppose  that  Blenkenstein  would  deliberately  en- 
courage a  crime  in  order  to  win  his  wager,  but  he 
thought  it  not  unlikely  that  Blenkenstein  was  suf- 
ficiently worked  up  to  be  reckless  of  the  instructions 
he  gave;  in  which  case  a  ruffian  like  Bilks — if  he  got 
Mr.  Faviel  in  a  quiet  place  with  no  one  looking  on — 
would  go  as  near  murder  as  a  good  many  men  of  his 
class  frequently  go,  just  for  the  sake  of  getting  back 
on  a  policeman.  There  was  nothing  mild  about  Bilks 
when  he  was  in  a  temper. 

In  pursuance  of  his  determination  to  keep  a  watch, 
Mr.  Boke  had  lurked  outside  the  booth  of  Chy  Fang 
most  of  the  afternoon,  keeping  out  of  the  way  of  his 
late  colleagues  as  much  as  possible.  Miss  Faviel,  dur- 
ing her  altercation  with  the  door-keeper  of  the  booth, 
had  noticed  him.  She  had,  as  has  been  stated,  arrived 
at  The  Ashlands  in  a  highly  detective  mood,  but  this 
in  itself  would  not  have  led  her  to  infer  anything 
from  Mr.  Boke's  presence,  but  for  what  happened  im- 
mediately she  got  inside  the  tent. 

What  happened  was  that — the  moment  Chy  Fang 
spoke — Monarch  ran  up  to  him,  with  wagging  tail  and 
a  series  of  pleased  yaps.  Then,  the  truth  flashed  across 
Miss  Faviel.  She  kept  her  presence  of  mind,  how- 
ever, and  betrayed  no  sign  of  self-consciousness.  On 
the  contrary,  she  allowed  Chy  Fang  to  go  through 


300  The  Last  Day:   (5)   Six  and  Seven,  p.m. 

some  of  his  rites,  with  Monarch  yapping  excitedly  the 
while,  before  she  turned  slowly  and  left  the  booth. 

Once  outside  she  hurried — in  search  of  Mr.  Wilton. 
He  was  the  person  to  assist  her.  She  had  told  him, 
when  they  met  earlier  in  the  afternoon,  of  the  bargain 
she  had  struck  with  Captain  Bunbury,  and  Mr.  Wilton 
had  rather  pooh-poohed  it.  He  seemed  to  doubt  if 
Captain  Bunbury  was  trustworthy.  So  did  Miss  Fa- 
viel,  but  that  he  had  his  eye  on  Richard — who  must 
surely  have  departed  from  his  senses — was  now  plain. 
If  only  she  could  find  Mr.  Wilton,  he  and  she  together 
could  enter  the  booth  and  make  a  claim  to  Richard 
which  no  one  could  dispute,  and  would  rescue  Richard 
from  the  possibly  evil  eye  of  Captain  Bunbury. 

Unfortunately  for  Miss  Faviel's  plan,  Mr.  Wilton 
was  not  to  be  found.  She  went  round  the  garden  and 
he  was  not  there,  and  she  was  returning  by  the  front 
of  the  house,  in  case  he  should  be  near  the  cocoanut 
shies  or  the  merry-go-round,  when  the  smoke  rising 
from  the  booth  caught  her  eye  and  warned  her  of  a 
possible  catastrophe. 

Miss  Faviel  ran;  and  Monarch,  with  failing  legs 
and  breath,  and  eyes  bulging  with  the  conviction  that 
the  end  of  the  world  had  come,  was  dragged  after  her. 
Some  men,  who  had  entered  the  tent,  were  just  com- 
ing out,  as  she  reached  it.  Conspicuous  among  them 
were  Police-Constable  Bigstock  and  the  pink-faced 
man. 

"  Suttunly,"  Mr.  Bigstock  was  saying,  "  he  ain't  in 
theer.  He  must  'a'  got  out  at  the  back." 

Miss  Faviel  hailed  him  breathlessly. 

"  The  Chinaman,  Chy  Fang,  is  my  nephew  whom 
we've  been  looking  for.  He  must  be  mad.  Can  you 
catch  him?  " 


The  Last  Day:   (5)   Six  and  Seven,  p.m.  301 

Mr.  Bigstock  rose  to  the  occasion  with  an  alertness 
which  was  little  short  of  the  miraculous.  He  asked 
no  questions.  He  made  no  promises.  He  did  not  so 
much  as  reply  to  Miss  Faviel. 

Turning  to  the  pink-faced  man  he  said, 

"  Sam,  this  is  the  chanst  o'  your  life.  Foller  where 
I  lead  'ee.  He's  a-gone  through  the  shrubbery,  I 
expect." 

Stunned  by  the  suddenness  of  his  mission,  the  pink- 
faced  man  followed  Mr.  Bigstock  without  a  word  into 
the  bushes,  while  Miss  Faviel,  turning  round,  found 
herself  confronted  by  Judith  Mallendon. 

"  My  dear,"  said  Miss  Faviel,  "  that  Chinaman  is 
my  nephew,  and  he's  trying  to  disappear  again." 

"  I  know,"  said  Judith  unexpectedly,  and  to  Miss 
Faviel's  astonishment  began  to  weep  a  little. 

"  Never  mind,  my  dear,"  said  Miss  Faviel.  "  I'm 
sure  he'll  come  back,  if  that  dreadfully  foolish  police- 
man doesn't  make  a  muddle.  I  only  wish  I  could  have 
sent  some  one  else  after  him." 

"  I  sent  Jimmy,"  said  Judith,  "  and  his  friend.  But 
I  wish  I  knew — knew " 

"  There — there,"  said  Miss  Faviel.  "  Look  at  poor 
Monarch,  quite  apoplectic !  He  knew  Richard  at  once, 
clever  Monarch !  And  you  did  too,  did  you,  my  dear  ? 
Now,  let  us  go  for  a  little  walk  up  and  down  together. 
I  expect  they  will  all  be  back  soon,  and  then  Richard 
will  have  to  explain  his  behavior." 

But  in  this  expectation  Miss  Faviel  was  destined  to 
be  disappointed. 

Faviel  had  started  on  his  flight  from  the  booth 
buoyantly.  The  success  of  his  escape  from  the  mill 
followed  by  his  luck  in  effecting  the  exchange  with 
Chy  Fang,  who  had  agreed  to  it  with  ineffable  good 


302  The  Last  Day:   (5)   Six  and  Sevcn^  p.m. 

humor  and  incuriousness — followed  again  by  the  skil- 
ful way  in  which  he  had  put  that  last  spoke  in  Blen- 
kenstein's  wheel — gave  him  a  feeling  of  exultation 
which  was  like  drinking  wine.  He  had  seen  Judith, 
and  to-morrow  he  would  see  her  once  more,  and  be 
released  from  these  distracting  fetters  which  had  been 
fixed  on  him  by  the  terms  of  the  wager.  He  had  only 
to  lie  hid  till  midnight  and  he  would  withal  have  won 
the  wager. 

While  he  was  wondering  where  he  should  make 
his  hiding-place,  and  unconsciously  beginning  to  flag, 
Faviel  became  aware  that  he  was  pursued.  Somehow 
he  had  not  expected  pursuit.  He  renewed  his  pace  a 
little  less  exultant,  making  for  the  woods  that  lay  aside 
The  Ashlands.  Presently,  the  exultation  had  died  out, 
and  he  was  like  a  tired  man  from  whom  the  spirit 
of  the  wine  he  has  drunk  is  fled,  leaving  a  double 
lethargy.  He  began  to  realize  that  there  was  a  price 
to  be  paid  for  his  successes  of  the  day  and  preceding 
night,  the  price  of  sheer  exhaustion.  He  had  spent  six 
days  in  close  confinement,  followed  by  a  sleepless  night 
of  hot  pursuit  and  a  day  of  great  strain.  The  facts 
came  upon  him,  together  with  a  looseness  of  the  knees 
and  a  faint  feeling.  He  felt  that  he  could  not  run 
much  further. 

Up  to  now  he  had  kept  his  handicap  so  well  that 
he  had  not  been  visible  to  his  pursuers,  or  rather  they 
had  not  been  visible  to  him.  He  could  only  hear  them 
as  they  must  have  been  able  to  hear  him. 

Turning  now,  as  he  reached  an  open  glade,  he  saw 
Mr.  Boke  among  the  trees  not  thirty  yards  off.  He 
stopped.  It  was  no  good  being  run  down  and  caught 
without  a  breath  in  his  body.  He  would  sooner  stand 
and  make  a  fight  of  it.  How  many  of  them  were 


The  Last  Day:   (5)   Six  and  Seven,  p.m.  303 

after  him  ?  A  lust  of  anger  filled  him,  as  he  balanced 
the  chances  of  his  being  taken  at  the  last  moment  like 
a  fool,  and  he  stopped  and  picked  a  heavy  stump  of 
wood  out  of  some  fagots  that  lay  in  a  pile  on  the 
ground  beside  him. 

"  Look  out  for  yourself !  "  he  said  to  Mr.  Boke,  as 
the  latter  drew  near. 

Mr.  Boke  pulled  up.  He  also  was  getting  his  breath 
with  difficulty.  The  two  stood  facing  one  another 
for  an  appreciable  time  before  Mr.  Boke  could 
speak. 

"  All  right,  sir,"  he  said.  "  I'm  not  after  you.  I've 
changed  sides.  There  ain't  time  to  explain,  but  your 
lady  aunt  has  promised  me  a  hundred  if  you  turn  up 
to-morrow,  and  I've  broke  with  Mr.  B.  He  an'  Cop 
an'  Bilks  are  after  you  now.  Can  you  git  on, 
sir?" 

"  No,"  said  Faviel.  He  scarcely  knew  whether  to 
believe  Mr.  Boke  or  not,  but  in  any  case  he  could  not 
get  on,  and  he  said  so  calmly. 

"  Then  there's  on'y  one  thing  to  be  done,"  said  Mr. 
Boke.  "  Lie  low — under  those  sticks  or  anywhere — 
I'll  go  on  an'  mix  the  scent.  Lie  down,  sir,  for  your 
own  sake.  There  they  are  a-coming.  I'm  off." 

Faviel  flopped  down  in  a  crevasse  among  the 
fagots,  as  Mr.  Boke,  with  a  heroic  spirit,  crossed  the 
glade  and  plunged  into  the  trees  beyond. 

"  There  'e  goes!" 

"Come  on!" 

Bilks  and  Blenkenstein  issued  into  the  glade  almost 
simultaneously  with  Mr.  Boke's  dive  into  the  further 
wood,  and  they  followed  him  without  stopping. 
Wedged  in  among  the  fagots  as  helpless  as  a  rabbit 
in  a  wire,  Faviel  watched  them  go,  and  having  waited 


304  The  Last  Day:   (5)   Six  and  Seven,  p.m. 

a  minute  to  give  them  time  to  vanish,  decided  he  had 
better  wriggle  himself  out.  Turning  for  that  purpose, 
he  saw  the  leering  face  of  Coppenwell  above  him,  and 
next  moment  received  a  blow  on  the  head  from  the 
very  stump  of  wood  he  had  himself  laid  down. 


CHAPTER  XXXVII 

THE     LAST     DAY — (6) FIVE     MINUTES     PAST     SEVEN 

O'CLOCK   P.    M. — MR.    BOKE   HAS   HIS   REVENGE 

MR.  BOKE,  though,  in  a  sporting  spirit,  he  had 
drawn  the  scent,  as  he  supposed,  away  from  Mr.  Fa- 
viel  and  upon  himself,  had  no  intention  of  sacrificing 
himself  more  than  was  needful. 

By  leading  his  pursuers  into  the  open  country  he 
might,  no  doubt,  give  Mr.  Faviel  the  very  best  chance 
of  being  quit  of  them;  but  then  running  was  not  his 
forte,  and  the  idea  of  being  caught  at  some  distance 
from  civilization  by  his  late  colleagues  and  Mr.  Blen- 
kenstein  was  not  to  his  mind  at  all.  Their  reasonable- 
ness, on  discovering  that  he  had  tricked  them,  would 
be  at  a  very  low  ebb;  and  it  was  highly  likely  that 
Mr.  Coppenwell's  lively  brain  would  suggest  that  Mr. 
Boke  should  suffer  in  Mr.  Faviel's  place,  a  suggestion 
the  others,  in  their  wrought-up  condition,  would  only 
too  probably  fall  in  with. 

Mr.  Coppenwell,  as  we  know,  was  not  with  the  other 
two.  Having  seen  his  chance,  that  sage  youth  had 
determined  to  seize  it,  and  win  glory  and  gold  for 
himself  by  capturing  Mr.  Faviel  single-handed. 

Mr.  Boke  did  not  know  of  this,  of  course,  but  in 
any  case  his  tactics  would  in  all  probability  have  been 
the  same.  They  consisted  in  keeping  just  so  much 
ahead  as  to  avoid  the  full  glare  of  publicity,  while,  at 

305 


306  The  Last  Day:  (6)  Five  Minutes  past  Seven 

the  same  time,  by  turning  and  doubling  perpetually, 
he  was  gradually  retracing  his  steps  towards  The 
Ashlands. 

Whether  he  would  reach  that  haven  of  refuge  before 
the  storm,  so  to  speak,  broke,  was  a  problem  which 
had  become  exceedingly  doubtful,  when  chance  unex- 
pectedly favored  him.  As  he  burst  out  of  a  thinnish 
copse — in  the  course  of  traversing  which  he  had  had 
the  dubious  pleasure  of  observing  that  Mr.  Blenken- 
stein,  who  was  leading,  had  gained  on  him  considerably 
and  would  recognize  him  in  turn  at  the  next  open  bit — 
Mr.  Boke  perceived  ahead  of  him  two  men.  One  was  a 
police  constable,  Mr.  Bigstock,  in  fact;  the  other  was 
the  pink-faced  man  who  had,  on  a  memorable  occasion, 
driven  the  cart  containing  the  wardrobe  halfway  to 
the  mill  at  Hanging  Coppice. 

As  soon  as  they  saw  Mr.  Boke  they  stopped.  Mr. 
Boke  also  stopped. 

"  Ha'  you,"  said  Mr.  Bigstock  severely,  "  seen  a 
young  man,  what,  being  a  lunatic,  has  escaped  some- 
wheres  into  this  here  wood?" 

Even  while  he  spoke,  Blenkenstein  was  thudding 
towards  them  through  the  coppice  from  which  Mr. 
Boke  had  just  emerged. 

"  Yes,"  said  Mr.  Boke,  rising  to  the  emergency,  "  I 
have.  Here  he  is !  Hold  him !  " 

"  Stand  by,  Sam,"  said  Mr.  Bigstock  steadily,  and 
the  pink-faced  man  stood  by.  Mr.  Bigstock  in  council 
or  on  the  trail  might  be  liable  to  confusion ;  Mr.  Big- 
stock  in  action  was  limpidly  direct.  As  Blenkenstein 
ran  out  from  the  trees,  the  big  constable  had  him  in 
a  moment.  Blenkenstein  was  a  big  man  himself,  but 
he  was  not  possessed  of  Mr.  Bigstock's  muscle.  He 
tried  to  free  himself  in  vain. 


The  Last  Day:  (6)  Five  Minutes  past  Seven  307 

"  What  the  devil  are  you  up  to  ?  "  he  yelled,  as  Mr. 
Bigstock  gripped  him  closer. 

"  Got  that  bit  o'  rope,  Sam?"  asked  Mr.  Bigstock. 

Almost  before  he  could  get  out  an  explanation, 
Blenkenstein's  hands  had  been  firmly  secured  by  the 
pink-faced  man. 

"Now  then,  quiet?"  said  Mr.  Bigstock,  "or  I'll 
have  to  gag  'ee." 

"  Well  done,"  said  Mr.  Boke,  who  was  hovering  on 
the  outskirts  of  the  fray,  keenly  listening  for  the  foot- 
steps of  Bilks  and  Coppenwell.  Presumably  they  had 
seen  the  policeman,  and,  like  guilty  men,  had  fled, 
instead  of  advancing.  "  Well  done,  constable.  I  don't 
mind  tellin'  you  I  was  after  him  myself.  I'm  a  pri- 
vate detective." 

"Are  you?"  said  Mr.  Bigstock  deferentially. 
"  You've  bin  arter  'im  some  time,  haven't  you  ?  " 

"  Yes.  But  he's  got  the  better  of  me.  Turned  on 
me,"  said  Mr.  Boke.  "  I  didn't  like  it.  These  lunatics 
'are  pretty  strong.  Anyway,  it's  your  capture,  and  I 
don't  ask  for  any  credit.  I've  never  seen  a  smarter  bit 
of  work." 

Mr.  Bigstock  beamed  at  this  professional  praise. 

"  Look  here,  constable,"  said  Blenkenstein,  who  had 
recovered  his  temper  sufficiently  to  see  that  execration 
in  itself  would  not  release  him  from  Mr.  Bigstock's 
grip.  "  That  man's  a  liar.  He's  a  man  I've  employed 
and  turned  off.  My  name  is  Blenkenstein,  and  I  am 
stopping  at  The  Ashlands.  If  you  don't  believe  me 
ask  the  man  who  is  behind " 

"What  man?"  asked  Mr.  Bigstock  incredulously. 

"  The  man  who "  Blenkenstein  suddenly  real- 
ized that  his  ally  was  not  visible.  "  He  was  just  behind 
me  in  the  wood  there." 


308  The  Last  Day:  (6)  Five  Minutes  past  Seven 

"  Deloosions ! "  said  Mr.  Boke,  tapping  his  head 
sympathetically.  "  Poor  chap." 

"  I  'ad  a  uncle,"  said  the  pink-faced  man,  with  con- 
siderable interest,  "  took  just  that  way.  Always  used 
to  be  thinkin'  as  he  was  follered,  sometimes  by  his 
uncle  as  'ad  brought  'im  up,  with  a  stick;  sometimes 
by  goblings.  It  was  the  drink  did  it  with  my  uncle." 

"  Never  you  mind  about  your  uncle,  Sam,"  said  Mr. 
Bigstock  practically.  "  What  we've  got  to  consider  is 
where  to  take  him." 

A  hope  sprung  up  in  Blenkenstein's  mind.  If  this 
fool  took  him  back  at  once,  something  might  still  be 
done.  The  hope  was  blighted  by  Mr.  Boke's  agency. 

"  I'm  not  advising  you,  constable,"  he  said  genially. 
"  You  know  what's  what.  I  kin  see  that.  But  if  a 
suggestion  ain't  offensive,  I'm  wondering  if  they'd 
much  care  to  have  him — being  a  looney — in  the  middle 
o'  the  show." 

"  His  aunt  as  is  looking  for  'im's  there,"  said  Mr. 
Bigstock  doubtfully. 

"  If  you  happened  to  be  thinkin',"  said  Mr.  Boke, 
"  o'  taking  him  straight  to  Waybury,  where  he'd  be 
quieter  and  safer,  I  could  go  back  to  The  Ashlands  an' 
tell  the  old  lady.  If  you  like.  I  ain't  nothing  on  my 
hands  that  would  prevent  it." 

"  Thanky,"  said  Mr.  Bigstock.  "  That's  what  I'll 
do  then.  Sam !  As  I  said  afore,  this  is  the  chanst  of 
your  life.  Do  you  think  you  could  get  round  an'  bring 
your  trap  into  the  wood  here  ?  " 

"  You'll  rue  this,  you  fool ! "  said  Blenkenstein 
passionately. 

"  Quiet ! "  said  Mr.  Bigstock  soothingly,  and  re- 
peated the  advice  when,  Blenkenstein's  coolness  having 
left  him,  he  alternately  threatened  and  adjured  him. 


The  Last  Day:  (6)  Five  Minutes  past  Seven  309 

Blenkenstein  made  one  last  desperate  effort  by  an 
appeal  to  Mr.  Boke. 

"  I'll  give  you  five  hundred  pounds,"  he  said,  "  if 
you'll  tell  this  fool  you're  lying  to  him." 

Mr.  Boke  shook  his  head.  It  was  doubtful  if  Mr. 
Bigstock,  having  once  got  an  idea  into  him,  would  con- 
sent to  have  it  extracted  again.  But,  in  any  case,  Mr. 
Boke  was  beyond  corruption. 

"  You  go  to  Waybury,  sir,"  he  said  coaxingly,  "  and 
then  you'll  get  your  rights." 

"  A  thousand !  "  said  Blenkenstein. 

"  I  don't  trust  you,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Boke  in  a  low 
voice,  "  and  if  I  did,  I  wouldn't  play  Mr.  Faviel  such 
a  dirty  trick,  as  to  go  back  on  him  now.  Sport's  sport, 
sir,  as  you  may  learn  some  day,  if  you  try  hard 
enough." 

Mr.  Boke  went  off  with  the  pink-faced  man,  and, 
a  quarter  of  an  hour  later,  the  pink-faced  man  drove 
Mr.  Bigstock  and  Blenkenstein  to  Waybury. 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII 

THE   END   OF   IT   ALL 

IT  was  noon  on  Sunday,  and  O'Levin  was  begin- 
ning to  wonder  if  he  was  ever  going  to  succeed  in 
making  Lady  Mallendon  realize  what  the  rights  of 
Faviel's  case  were.  Lady  Mallendon  was  at  once  dis- 
pleased, puzzled,  offended  and  astonished  at  the  various 
things  that  had  happened  since  seven  o'clock  the  previ- 
ous evening.  The  disappearance  of  Chy  Fang  was, 
she  considered,  calculated  to  spoil  the  receipts  of  the 
fete  very  greatly,  if  not  entirely;  as  people  could  not 
be  expected  to  pay  sixpence  to  see  a  conjurer  who  was 
not  there.  O'Levin  had  suggested  at  the  time  that 
they  should  pay  sixpence  for  the  privilege  of  being 
allowed  into  the  smoky  booth  to  see  if  they  could  find 
the  conjurer;  but  Lady  Mallendon  thought  this 
savored  of  deception. 

Secondly,  the  disappearance  of  Blenkenstein  had 
been  very  trying.  Judith  had  admitted,  under  cross- 
examination,  that  Mr.  Blenkenstein  had  not  proposed 
to  her  again,  and  that  she  was  very  glad  of  it,  because 
she  had  made  up  her  mind  that  she  could  not  accept 
him.  Lady  Mallendon  had  said  that  she  did  not  wish 
to  say  anything  unkind  about  anybody,  but  she  thought 
that  Judith  was  foolish,  and  that  Mr.  Blenkenstein 
was  unmannerly.  Mr.  Blenkenstein  need  not  have  pro- 
posed, but  he  ought  not  to  have  gone  away  without 
saying  good-by. 

310 


The  End  of  It  All  311 

Thirdly,  the  reappearance  at  a  late  hour  of  Jimmy 
and  Augustus,  who  had  been  in  search  of  the  China- 
man, it  seemed,  or  rather  of  Mr.  Faviel — for  every  one 
seemed  agreed  that  Mr.  Faviel  had  been  the  Chinaman 
— but  who  would  not  say  whether  they  had  found  him 
or  not,  and  indeed,  would  say  nothing,  except  that  it 
was  all  right,  and  Mr.  Faviel  would  call  to-morrow, 
had  vexed  Lady  Mallendon  excessively.  She  did  not 
know  why  she  should  be  left  in  the  dark,  or  what 
would  have  happened  if  the  Chinaman,  instead  of 
being  Mr.  Faviel  and  disappearing,  had  been  a  lunatic, 
and  had  set  on  Jimmy  and  Augustus,  and  perhaps 
killed  them.  She  did  not  like  to  think  what  would 
have  happened. 

Last  night's  happenings,  then,  had  offended  and 
astonished  Lady  Mallendon.  This  morning's  puzzled 
and  offended  her.  To  begin  with,  Blenkenstein  had 
reappeared.  He  had  only  effected  his  release  at  a  late 
hour  the  night  before,  and  had  been,  as  a  consequence, 
compelled  to  sleep  at  Waybury.  He  had  asked  to  see 
Judith  at  once,  and  having  seen  her,  had  gone  away. 
An  hour  later  Faviel  had  come.  He  had  asked  to  see 
O'Levin  in  the  first  place,  and,  having  seen  him,  had 
asked  him  to  ask  Judith  to  go  into  the  garden.  Judith 
had  gone  into  the  garden. 

"Where,  I  suppose,  she  is  now?"  said  Lady 
Mallendon. 

"  I  believe  so,"  said  O'Levin. 

"  And  you  think  she  is  going  to  accept  Mr.  Faviel  ?  " 

"  Well,"  said  O'Levin,  "  I've  never  been  enough  of 
a  matchmaker  meself  to  be  able  to  answer  for  a  thing 
like  that,  bedad.  But  from  what  I've  read,  in  breach 
of  promise  cases  and  so  forth,  I  take  ut  there  was 
some  sort  of  likelihood  of  it.  I  couldn't  tell  ye  exactly 


312  The  End  of  It  All 

what  it  was  that  make  me  think  it,  a  fire  in  Miss 
Judith's  eye,  maybe,  or  a  tear.  I  misremember  which. 
But  anyway,  there  wasn't  anybody  else  in  the  garden 

that  I  cud  see,  that  she  was  likely  to  engage  herself 
^.^  » 

"  And  you  think,"  said  Lady  Mallendon,  "  that  on 
the  whole,  Mr.  Faviel  has  not  behaved  dishonorably? 
Sir  Jasper,  I  know,  would  never  give  his  consent,  if 
he  thought  Mr.  Faviel  had " 

"  That'll  be  all  right,"  said  O'Levin.  "  Dick  has 
played  cricket,  as  the  phrase  goes." 

"  But  a  cricketer,"  said  Lady  Mallendon,  fixing  on 
a  weak  point,  "  is  not  necessarily  honorable." 

"  It's  only  a  phrase,  I  assure  ye,"  said  O'Levin.  "  I 
meant  Dick  Faviel  could  hold  up  his  head  over  the 
matter,  thanks  to  Jimmy  and  Butt,  in  part.  In  this 
case,  it  was  the  babes  in  the  wood  did  for  the  man." 

"  Dreadful !  "  said  Lady  Mallendon.  "  I  cannot 
bear  to  think  of  it." 

"  They  did  it  beautifully,"  said  O'Levin.  "  Came 
up  just  at  the  right  moment — couldn't  have  got  it  more 
right  if  there'd  been  a  call-boy — just  when  Dick  was 
feeling  silly  from  that  knock  on  the  head,  and  made 
Mr.  Coppenwell,  as  the  gentleman's  name  is,  feel  like 
a  rabbit  between  two  ferrets  inside  of  four  minutes,  so 
Faviel  says.  After  that,  friend  Augustus  sat  on  his 
head,  and  Jimmy,  with  customary  prudence,  knotted 
him  up  in  his  own  braces,  if  ye'll  excuse  mintion  of 
the  same." 

"  I  think  Mr.  Faviel  might  have  come  back  at  that 
point,  or  at  least  explained  to  Jimmy,  and  told  Jimmy 
to  inform  me  of  the  circumstances,  instead  of  doing 
just  the  opposite." 

"  Ye  see  that  was  all  in  the  wager,"   explained 


The  End  of  It  All  313 

O'Levin  patiently.  "  Blenkenstein  arranged  it  all  very 
cunningly." 

"  Much  too  cunningly,  I  think,"  said  Lady  Mallen- 
don  severely.  "  I  am  sorry  for  Mr.  Blenkenstein,  but 
I  do  not  think  he  has  behaved  well,  whatever  Mr. 
Faviel  may  have  done." 

"  That's  it,"  said  O'Levin.  "  He  hasn't,  but  he's 
going  to  pay  ten  thousand  pounds  for  not  being  on  his 
best  behavior,  so  we  ought  to  forgive  him." 

"  Do  you  think  he  will  ?  "  asked  Lady  Mallendon. 

"  I  think  so,"  said  O'Levin.  He  had  seen  Blenken- 
stein since  his  release — not  a  pleasant  sight  to  see. 
The  man's  usual  stolid  reserve  and  self-satisfied 
manner  of  superman  had  gone  under  at  the  interview; 
and  he  had  exhibited  every  phase  of  emotion  from 
murderous  fury  to  abject  misery.  In  so  many  words 
he  had  told  O'Levin  that  if  he  could  have  guessed  the 
way  things  would  go,  he  would  have  caused  Faviel's 
final  disappearance.  He  made  no  secret  of  the  fact 
that  he  had  begun  by  cheating  and  would  have  ended 
if  necessary  by  conspiring  to  murder.  O'Levin  was 
rather  glad  that  he  had  ended  up  more  quietly.  It 
seemed  as  though,  at  some  point  in  the  course  of  his 
wooing,  his  fancy  for  Judith  had  developed  into  a 
consuming  passion,  in  which  the  mere  desire  of  pos- 
session had  changed  to  something  more  worthy.  It 
was  a  revelation  of  an  old  truth  that  brutes  can  love, 
and,  loving,  can  cease  to  be  altogether  brutes.  He 
would  do  anything  now  to  win  Miss  Mallendon's  es- 
teem, but  he  supposed  she  would  never  want  to  see 
him  again?  O'Levin  took  it  upon  himself  to  say  that 
it  would  be  distinctly  inadvisable  to  attempt  an  inter- 
view for  a  long  time  to  come.  He  had  left  Blenken- 
stein sullenly  wretched;  but  recovering  a  little  of  his 


3H  The  End  of  It  All 

heavy  cunning  manner :  wrapped  in  which,  it  was 
fairly  safe  to  assume,  he  would  presently  return  to 
his  usual  self — neither  so  violent  nor  yet  so  human  as 
hate  and  love  combined  had  for  the  moment  made 
him.  O'Levin  did  not  think  fit  to  enlarge  upon  these 
aspects  of  Blenkenstein  to  his  late  admirer,  Lady  Mal- 
lendon,  but  went  on :  "  Getting  the  money'll  be  like 
drawing  a  tooth,  but  the  tooth'll  come.  Ye  see,  we 
have  mutual  acquaintances,  and  he  will  not  want  to 
drop  out  of  his  circle  entirely.  By  the  way,"  added 
O'Levin  cunningly,  seeing  that  Lady  Mallendon  had 
begun  to  soften,  "  Dick  was  awfully  grateful  to  you 
for  keeping  the  promise  to  invite  the  Chinaman  down. 
But  for  that  things  might  have  gone  hard  with  him." 

"  Well,  of  course  I  am  glad  to  have  been  of 
service,"  said  Lady  Mallendon,  distinctly  mollified, 
"  and  if  only  Mr.  Faviel  had  taken  me  into  his  con- 
fidence from  the  first,  which  you  say  was  impossible, 
I  should  have  been  glad  to  do  more.  As  it  is,  Mr. 
Faviel  must  blame  himself  if  I  have  not  seemed  sym- 
pathetic throughout." 

"  Oh,  he  does,"  said  O'Levin.  "  Ye  should  hear 
him." 

"  I  wonder,"  said  Lady  Mallendon,  arising  as  her 
curiosity  now  began  to  outweigh  her  sense  of  injury, 
"  I  wonder  if  they  have  settled  anything.  Shall  we 
take  a  turn  in  the  garden,  Mr.  O'Levin?  Judith  is 
so  very  reserved  that  even  now,  after  all  his  adven- 
tures for  her  sake,  and  when  I  think  of  the  wardrobe 
and  the  mill,  and  that  smoky  tent,  and  all  those  dread- 
ful men  whom  Mr.  Blenkenstein  employed  in  so  un- 
gentlemanly  a  manner,  it  makes  me  quite  nervous. 
Poor  Mr.  Faviel  may  still  be  as  far  from  knowing 
what  I  am  sure  he  must  be  very  anxious  to  know  as 


The  End  of  It  All  315 

ever.  Oh,  Mr.  Bayford,"  added  Lady  Mallendon,  as 
the  rector  was  announced  on  their  way  out,  "  how  good 
of  you  to  come!  I  hope  you  have  excused  our  want 
of  attendance  this  morning,  but  really,  after  yesterday, 
no  one  except  Sir  Jasper  felt  fit  to  stir,  and  I  believe 
he  went  off  to  have  a  bathe." 

"  Cleanliness,"  said  Mr.  Bayford  felicitously,  "  is 
next  to  godliness,  next  to  godliness.  I  trust  you  are 
none  the  worse  for  yesterday's  exertion.  The  charity 
must  be  very  grateful  to  you,  very  grateful,  I  am 
sure." 

"  Not  a  bit,"  said  Lady  Mallendon.  "  And  Mr. 
Wormyer  is  coming,  I  hope?  " 

"  Wormyer,"  said  Mr.  Bayford,  "  has  already  come. 
He  has  gone  into  the  garden." 

"  Let  us  go,  too,"  said  Lady  Mallendon.  "  Lunch 
won't  be  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour  yet." 

"  Has  anything,"  inquired  Mr.  Bayford,  as  they 
took  their  way  in  that  direction,  "  has  anything  been 
heard  of  that  unfortunate  young  man  who  disappeared 
yesterday  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  Lady  Mallendon,  pleased  to  be  able 
to  instruct  rather  than  be  instructed,  "  he  has  come 
back.  In  fact  he  is  in  the  garden  now,  proposing  to 
my  niece." 

"  How  very  romantic,  and — and  astonishing !  " 
said  Mr.  Bayford.  "  Truly  astonishing,  and  ro- 
mantic !  " 

"  Yes,  we  are  very  pleased  about  it,"  said  Lady 
Mallendon.  "  Mr.  Faviel  is  so  very  nice,  he  is  a  great 
traveler,  you  know;  but  the  wager  he  has  just  won 
really  puts  any  of  his  previous  achievements  quite  into 
the  shade." 

And  she  related  details  of  this  affair  to  Mr.  Bayford, 


316  The  End  of  It  All 

until  it  was  not  clear  to  O'Levin  whether  Mr.  Bayford 
or  she  were  the  more  mystified. 

"  I  did  hear  from  one  of  my  parishioners  this 
morning,"  said  Mr.  Bayford,  "  of  the  unfortunate,  or, 
as  it  turns  out,  most  fortunate  mistake  made  by  the 
constable  from  Waybury.  The  constable  himself  is 
naturally  indignant  at  losing  a  chance  of  kudos,  so 
they  say,  so  they  say.  Good-morning,  Miss  Finch. 
Fresh  as  ever  after  the  dramatic  triumphs,  fresh  as 
ever,  I  see." 

Miss  Finch  looked  indeed  rather  fresher  than  ever, 
as  she  stood  there  in  front  of  Mr.  Bayford,  with  Mr. 
Wormyer  by  her  side.  Her  cheeks  were  aglow,  as 
with  a  recent  blush,  and  the  glow  was  renewed,  as 
Mr.  Wormyer,  who  had  something  of  the  eel  in  his 
manner,  suddenly  spoke  out. 

"  Lady  Mallendon,  Mr.  Bayford,"  said  Mr.  Worm- 
yer painfully.  "  There  is  something  that  I  ought,  I 
think,  to  tell  you." 

"  Good  gracious !  "  said  Lady  Mallendon,  not  a  little 
alarmed. 

"  Speak  up,  Wormyer,  speak  up,"  said  Mr.  Bayford 
encouragingly. 

"  I  have,  that  is  to  say,  Robina  and  I,"  said  Mr. 
Wormyer,  shyly  but  manfully,  "  are  engaged  to  be 
married." 

"  My  dear  Miss  Finch ! "  said  Lady  Mallendon 
kindly. 

"  Robina  and  you,  Wormyer,"  said  Mr.  Bayford, 
"  are  engaged  to  be — who,  Wormyer,  is  Robina  ?  " 

"  Miss  Finch,"  said  Mr.  Wormyer,  "  is — is  to  be 
the  lodestar  of  my  lonely  life,  if  I  may  say  so." 

"  Oh,  ah,"  said  Mr.  Bayford,  shaking  his  head  gaily 
at  Miss  Finch.  "  I  perceive,  I  understand.  Worm- 


The  End  of  It  All  317 

yer,  Wormyer !  You  are  a  lucky  man,  a  fortunate  fel- 
low. Miss  Finch,  Robina,  as  perhaps  I  should  call 
you;  Wormyer  is  a  good  fellow;  I  know  Wormyer 
well.  I  congratulate  you  both,  heartily,  heartily." 

Mr.  Bayford  hastened  on  with  Lady  Mallendon, 
leaving  O'Levin  to  tender  his  congratulations. 

"  Yes,"  said  Mr.  Bayford,  in  response  to  Lady 
Mallendon's  question.  "  I  am  pleased,  thoroughly 
pleased.  It  will  increase  Wormyer 's  standing  if  he  is 
married.  It  will  increase  his  standing." 

"  And  about  their  income  ?  "  asked  Lady  Mallen- 
don. 

"  Wormyer  is  getting  a  hundred  a  year,"  said  Mr. 
Bayford.  "  I  shall  make  a  point  of  seeing  that  he  has 
a  hundred  and  twenty  in  future.  Wormyer  is  a  good 
fellow,  a  good  fellow." 

Any  comment  that  Lady  Mallendon  might  have 
been  going  to  make  upon  this  generous  undertaking  of 
Mr.  Bayford's,  was  put  out  of  her  mind  by  the  ap- 
pearance, round  a  bend  of  the  path,  of  Judith  and 
Faviel. 

"  Have  you  come  to  congratulate  me,  Auntie  ?  "  said 
Judith. 

"  Yes,"  said  Lady  Mallendon.  "  I  mean  that  I  have 
come  to  congratulate  Mr.  Faviel." 

Mr.  Faviel  was  delighted,  as  he  had  every  reason 
to  be. 

"  It's  awfully  nice  of  you  to  say  so,"  he  said,  "  after 
my  disgraceful  behavior.  But  I  couldn't  very  well 
help  it,  you  know,  once  I  had  taken  on  the  wager." 

"  No,  of  course  not,"  said  Lady  Mallendon  warmly. 
"  It  was  all  Mr.  Blenkenstein's  fault." 

"  Or  Judith's,"  suggested  Faviel.  "  So  my  aunt, 
whom  I  saw  on  my  way  here,  said.  She  is  very  sorry 


318  The  End  of  It  All 

for  Blenkenstein.  She  says  he  behaved  very  gen- 
erously." 

"  Where  is  Miss  Faviel  ?  "  asked  Lady  Mallendon. 
"  I  should  like  to  see  her  again  now  that  she  is  to  be 
Judith's  aunt.  I  mean,  of  course,  that  I  should  like 
it  anyhow,  but  particularly  for  that  reason." 

"  She  said  she  was  going  to  lunch  at  the  Warleys'." 

"  Couldn't  we  send  over  and  fetch  her,  and  the 
Warleys  too?  "  suggested  Lady  Mallendon  hospitably. 

"  Not  for  lunch,  Aunt  Georgy,"  said  Judith.  "  We 
might  for  tea.  There's  a  friend  of  Dick's  there  too," 
— Judith  blushed  a  little — "  Mr.  Wilton.  Dick  thinks 
that  he's  in  love  with  Etta." 

"  How  nice !  "  said  Lady  Mallendon.  "  Then  of 
course  he  would  come  too,  wouldn't  he?  It  would  be 
so  nice,  wouldn't  it?  "  she  said  to  Mr.  Bayford,  mov- 
ing on  again  as  the  lunch-bell  sounded.  "  Three  en- 
gaged couples,  all  so  unexpected." 

"  Quite  a  gathering  of  love-birds,"  said  Mr.  Bay- 
ford.  "  Quite  a  collection  of  love-birds.  Ha !  lunch- 
eon, I  perceive,  luncheon !  " 

Later  in  the  day,  when  the  gathering  had  actually 
been  effected,  Jimmy  and  Butt,  at  a  suggestion  from 
O'Levin,  combined  to  decoy  Mr.  Bayford  to  the  distant 
cottage  of  a  parishioner:  that  of  the  deaf  old  lady, 
who  only  used  her  ear-trumpet  on  state  occasions. 
This  having  been  successfully  accomplished,  every  one 
felt,  as  O'Levin  said,  that  there  was  nothing  left  to 
wish  for. 


THE  END 


DOROTHY  CANFIELD'S  THE  SQUIRREL- CAGE 

Illustrated  by  J.  A.  WILLIAMS.    3rd  printing.    $1.35  net. 

This  is,  first  of  all,  an  unusually  personal  and  real  story  of 
American  family  life.  The  scene  is  a  middle-western  city  to- 
day. This  original  and  complete  version  of  Lydia  Emery's 
love  story  contains  much  not  in  its  serial  form. 

"  One  has  no  hesitation  in  classing  '  The  Squirrel-Cage '  with  the 
best  American  fiction  of  this  or  any  season.  Regarded  merely  as  a 
realistic  story  of  social  ambitions  in  a  typical  Ohio  town,  it  has  all 
the  elements  of  diversity,  feeling,  style,  characterization  and  plot  to 
captivate  almost  any  member  of  that  large  and  growing  public  which 
knows  vital  fiction  from  brummagen.  The  author  has  a  moving  story 
to  tell,  and  with  a  calm,  sure  art  she  tells  it  by  stirring  our  sympa- 
thies for  the  singularly  appealing  heroine.  The  characters  are  all 
alive,  well  contrasted,  wonderfully  grouped." — Chicago  Record-Herald. 

"  She  brings  her  chief  indictment  against  the  restless  ambition  of  the 
American  business  man,  and  the  purposeless  and  empty  life  of  the 
American  wife.  ...  Is  admirably  done;  this  couple,  and  others, 
are  made  very  real  and  human.  .  .  .  The  story  of  a  young  girl's 
powerlessness  to  resist  the  steady  pressure  of  convention." — Bookman. 

"  A  remarkable  story  of  American  life  to-day,  worth  reading  and 
worth  pondering.  .  .  .  Her  book  is,  first  of  all,  a  story,  and  a  good 
one  throughout." — New  York  Tribune. 

"  Admirable  work  .  .  .  true  art  ...  her  heroine  attracts  sym- 
pathy."— New  York  Sun. 

R.  E.  VERNEDE'S  THE  FLIGHT  OF  FAVIEL 

With  frontispiece  by  GEORGE  VARIAN.    $1.25  net. 

This  story  is  a  new  version  of  the  author's  "  The  Pursuit  of 
Mr.  Faviel,"  which  has  met  with  artistic  as  well  as  com- 
mercial success  in  England,  and  introduces  a  promising  nov- 
elist to  the  American  public. 

Mr.  Faviel,  light-heartedly,  and  not  foreseeing  the  conse- 
quences, starts  to  win  a  wager  that  he  can  disappear  abso- 
lutely for  a  month  without  being  discovered  even  by  detec- 
tives. A  love  story  and  the  machinations  of  a  ruthless  rival 
figure  in  the  diverting  and  unusual  complications  that  follow. 
The  climax  is  as  unexpected  as  it  is  agreeable.  There  is  con- 
siderable humor  as  well  as  the  spice  of  adventure. 

HENRY     HOLT    AND     COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS  NEW  YORK 


BOOKS  TO  MAKE  ELDERS  YOUNG  AGAIti 
By  INEZ  HAYNES  GILLMORE 

PHOEBE  AND  ERNEST 

With  30  illustrations  by  R.  F.  SCHABELITZ.    $1.50. 
Parents  will  recognize  themselves  in  the  story,  and  laugh 
understandingly  with,  and  sometimes  at,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Martin 
and  their  children,  Phoebe  and  Ernest. 

"  Attracted  delighted  attention  in  the  course  of  its  serial  publication. 
Sentiment  and  humor  are  deftly  mingled  in  this  clever  book." — New 
York  Tribune. 

"  We  must  50  back  to  Louisa  Alcott  for  their  equals." — Boston  Ad- 
vertiser. 

"  For  young  and  old  alike  we  know  of  no  more  refreshing  story." — 
New  York  Evening  Post. 

PHOEBE,  ERNEST,   AND  CUPID 

Illustrated  by  R.  F.  SCHABELITZ.  Probable  price,  $1.30  net. 
In  this  sequel  to  the  popular  "Phoebe  and  Ernest,"  each 
of  these  delightful  young  folk  goes  to  the  altar.  The  chap- 
ters, which  have  already  created  such  interest  in  the  Amer- 
ican Magazine,  are :  "  Ernest  and  the  Law  of  Order " — 
"  Phoebe  and  the  Little  Blind  God  " — "  Phoebe  Among  the 
Bohemians  " — "  Ernest  Lays  down  His  Arms  " — "  Phoebe 
Closes  with  Cupid  " — "  The  Discoveries  " — "  The  House 
Book  " — "  I,  Phoebe,  Take  Thee,  Toland  " — "  Ernest  and  the 
Conspirators  " — "  Phoebe  and  the  Most  Important  Bird  " — 
"  Till  He  Gets  Him  a  Wife  "— "  The  Found  Children." 

JANEY 

Illustrated  by  ADA  C.  WILLIAMSON.    $1.25  net. 

"  Being  the  record  of  a  short  interval  in  the  journey  thru 
life  and  the  struggle  with  society  of  a  little  girl  of  nine." 

"  Our  hearts  were  captive  to  '  Phoebe  and  Ernest,'  and  now  accept 
'  Janey.'  .  .  .  She  is  so  engaging.  .  .  .  Told  so  vivaciously  and 
with  such  good-natured  and  pungent  asides  for  grown  people." — 
Outlook. 

"  Depicts  youthful  human  nature  as  one  who  knows  and  loves  it. 
Her  '  Phoebe  and  Ernest '  studies  are  deservedly  popular,  and  now,  in 
"  Janey,'  this  clever  writer  has  accomplished  an  equally  charming  por- 
trait."— Chicago  Record-Herald. 

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BEULAH  MARIE  DIX'S  THE  FIGHTING  BLADE 

By  the  author  of  "  The  Making  of  Christopher  Ferringham," 
"Allison's  Lad,"  etc.  With  frontispiece  by  GEORGE 
VARIAN.  $1.30  net. 

The  "fighting  blade"  is  a  quiet,  boyish  German  soldier 
serving  Cromwell,  who,  though  a  deadly  duelist,  is  at  bottom 
heroic  and  self-sacrificing.  He  loves  a  little  tomboy  Royalist 
heiress. 

New  York  Sun:— "The  freshness  of  youth  will  charm  the 
reader.  .  .  .  Told  with  great  spirit.  She  has  written  her  romance 
with  dash.  The  heroine  is  very  attractive,  the  love  part  is  told 
delightfully." 

New  York  Tribune :—"  With  an  historic  background  and  atmos- 
phere. .  .  .  Lovers  of  this  kind  of  fiction  will  find  here  all  that 
they  can  desire  of  plot  and  danger  and  daring,  of  desperate  encounters, 
capture  and  hiding  and  escape,  and  of  nascent  love  amid  the  alarums 
of  war,  and  it  is  all  of  excellent  quality." 

Chicago  Inter-Ocean : — "  The  best  historical  romance  the  man  who 
writes  these  lines  has  read  in  half  a  dozen  years.  .  .  .  All  alive 
with  high,  bold  spirit;  it  has  true  atmosphere  one  cannot  but  breathe 
in  with  every  page.  .  .  .  The  heroine  is  a  dear  maid  and  innocent, 
yet  nowise  sweetish  or  tamely  conventional.  .  .  .  The  story's 
hero  ...  is  certainly  as  fine  a  specimen  of  fighting  manhood  (with 
a  gentle  heart)  as  ever  has  been  put  before  us.  ...  He  lives,  mind 
you,  he's  wholly  natural.  .  .  .  Oliver  Cromwell  makes  a  brief  ap- 
pearance, but  a  striking  one.  .  .  .  Some  of  the  minor  characters  .  .  . 
are  as  well-drawn.  .  .  .  From  the  beginning  .  .  .  until  the  very 
end  the  story  holds  the  reader's  glad,  intimate  interest." 

DONAL  HAMILTON  HAINES'S  THE  RETURN  OF  PIERRE 

A  tale  of  1870.  The  adventures  of  Pierre — a  country  lad — 
the  woman  Pierre  loves,  her  father — a  fine  old  Colonel  of 
Dragoons — and  a  German  spy,  not  without  attractive  qualities. 
With  a  frontispiece  from  one  of  the  panels  of  Detaille's — "  Le 
Chant  du  Depart."  2nd  printing.  $1.25  net. 

New  York  Tribune: — "  Capital  studies  of  the  realities  of  war  as 
they  are  seen  by  a  French  conscript  ...  the  panics  that  accompany 
their  obscure  heroisms,  the  range  of  their  emotions  before  and  during 
and  after  actual  battle.  Decidedly  worth  while  .  .  .  convincing  and 
gripping." 

Living  Age: — "  Donal  Hamilton  Haines  ...  has  accomplished  an 
unusual  thing.  ...  A  wonderful  blending  of  gentleness  and  nobility 
of  spirit  with  uncompromising  realism  which  make  this  book  one  of 
the  most  noteworthy  of  the  season." 

Boston  Transcript: — "  His  descriptions  are  fresh  and  unstudied.  .  .  . 
A  clear,  forcible  presentation  of  an  element  in  war  which  is  too 
seldom  laid  before  us.  It  is  the  tragedy  of  war,  on  which  the  stress 
is  laid." 

Postage  on  net  books  8%  additional. 

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R.  MACAULAY'S  VIEWS  AND  VAGABONDS 

A  genial  satire  on  "  Socialism "  and  "  The  Poor."  The 
characters  include  an  educated  young  Englishman  of  "  ad- 
vanced "  views — a  blacksmith  and  the  husband  of  a  working- 
girl,  both  from  a  sense  of  duty — some  friends  with  "  views," 
and  a  pair  of  lovable  young  vagabonds  without  a  troublesome 
idea  in  their  heads.  $1.35  net. 

New  York  Times: — "  A  whole-souled  and  delightful  world  ...  a 
gentle  irony  and  subtle  humor.  .  .  .  Deliciously  idiotic  friends.  .  .  . 
Relatives,  friends,  all  are  portrayed  with  a  pen  that  seems  to  be 
dipped  in  an  unfailing  stream  of  geniality.  ...  A  host  of  whimsical 
and  most  amusing  characters." 

The  Outlook: — "  Some  delightful  trifling  with  what  are  really  serious 
questions  of  economics  and  political  philosophy.  .  .  .  His  humorous 
treatment  hits  shrewdly,  though  gently." 

Chicago  Record-Herald : — "  Thoughtful,  at  times  spiritually  tragic, 
but  it  is  never  saddening  or  sad.  .  .  .  This  genial  satire.  ...  It 
rings  true,  is  warmly,  whimsically  human  and  charming  into  the 
bargain.  .  .  .  Delightfully  inconsequent,  irresponsible  young  people, 
and  one  bids  them  good-by  with  regret." 

Boston  Transcript: — "Two  delightful  'vagabonds'  .  .  .  who  accept 
what  life  brings  to  them  with  an  enjoyment  as  unflagging  as  it  is 
impartial.  .  .  .  The  story  ...  is  worth  reading — well  conceived  and 
told,  and  abounding  in  a  philosophy  sometimes  gently  satirical,  some- 
times amusing,  and  always  entertaining." 

RALPH  STRAUS'S  THE  PRISON  WITHOUT  A  WALL 

Sylvanus  is  a  gentle,  sensitive  youth, — a  lovable  recluse  who 
willingly  endures  the  cloistering  of  Cambridge,  of  which  he  is 
a  Fellow.  He  hears  the  call  of  the  world  and  of  love,  and, 
like  Queed,  seeks  to  be  more  like  other  men — but  with  differ- 
ent results.  He  experiences  London,  Bohemian  and  otherwise, 
and  both  love  and  treachery  come  to  him.  Sylvanus,  his  sis- 
ter, his  aunt,  and  a  little  London  dancer  are  characters  of 
uncommon  charm.  A  book  for  the  discriminating.  $1.30  net. 

New  York  Tribune.-— "This  admirable  novel  .  .  .  has  genuine  literary 
quality,  and  the  quality  of  the  understanding  of  men  and  women." 

Elia  W.  Peattie  in  The  Chicago  Tribune : — "  A  novel  rich  yet  pensive 
in  quality.  .  .  .  Most  unusual  in  its  atmosphere,  in  its  flowing  and 
capable  style,  and  in  the  impression  it  leaves  upon  the  mind.  .  .  . 
True  lovers  of  life  and  of  fiction  will  rate  it  highly." 

Westminster  Gazette: — "  Will  remain  long  in  our  memory.  Very 
sound  and  able." 

Outlook : — "  A  most  engrossing  story,  in  which  events  and  persons 
fit  together  with  artistic  precision." 

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STIRRING  MYSTERY  STORIES 

GARDNER  HUNTING'S  A  HAND  IN  THE  GAME 

With  colored  jacket  and  frontispiece.     $1.25  net. 

An  April  snow-ball  misses  a  cigar  store  Indian,  hits  a 
beautiful  girl  in  the  mouth,  and  starts  Dan  Randall's  romance. 

He  -fights  unarmed  for  the  plucky  and  brilliant  heroine 
against  perils  of  which  violent  death  is  not  the  most  terrible. 

"From  the  first  sentence,  the  story,  through  its  twenty-eight  chapters, 
continues  almost  to  the  final  paragraph  without  once  lagging  in  interest. 
It  has  an  abundance  of  startling  incident  and  proceeds  throughout  con- 
trary to  anticipation."— Boston  Transcript, 

"There  is  never  a  dull  moment.  .  .  .  There  is  a  thrill  on  every  page. 
...  A  killing,  several  kidnappings,  a  wild  night  ride  in  an  auto  over  an 
open  railroad  trestle,  a  cigarette-smoking 'ghost.'" — New  York  Times. 

By  BURTON  E.  STEVENSON 

THAT  AFFAIR  AT  ELIZABETH 

Another  story  in  which  Lester,  the  young  lawyer,  and  God- 
frey, the  reporter,  play  the  part  of  detectives  in  unraveling  a 
modern  mystery.  $1.50. 


stories  are  vigorously  interwoven,  being  worked  out  to  a  surprising 
conclusion." — Chicago  Pott. 


VJU  U»_i  U31U11.       \,tltLtl£U    t   Vit. 

"  Starts  with  a  capital  situation.  .  .  .  The  reader  is  utterly  unable  to 
guess  at  the  secret."— W.  Y.  Tribune. 

THE  MARATHON  MYSTERY 

The  story  of  a  strange  happening  in  a  New  York  apart- 
ment house,  and  at  a  Long  Island  house  party.  The  plot  is 
unusual,  full  of  surprises;  the  handling  is  masterful.  It  has 
been  republished  in  England  and  Germany.  With  five  scenes 
in  color  by  ELIOT  KEEN.  $1.50. 

"  The  author  has  stepped  at  once  to  the  front  ranks  among  American 
writers  of  detective  tales  ...  a  yarn  with  genuine  thrills.  —  Bookman. 

"  Distinctly  an  interesting  story— one  of  the  sort  that  the  reader  will 
not  lay  down  before  he  goes  to  bed."— New  York  Sun. 

THE  HOLLADAY  CASE 

This  remarkable  story  begins  with  the  finding  of  a  New 
York  banker  stabbed  to  death  in  his  office.  Suspicion  falls  on 
his  daughter.  A  kidnapping  and  pursuit  over  seas  follow. 
The  story  contains  a  minimum  of  horror  and  a  maximum 
of  ingenuity,  and  the  mystery  is  kept  up  to  the  next  to 
last  chapter.  With  frontispiece  by  ELIOT  KEEN.  $1.25. 

"A  good  detective  story,  and  it  is  the  better  because  the  part  of  the 
hero  is  not  filled  by  a  member  of  the  profession.  .  .  .  The  i      aer  win 
not  want  to  put  the  book  down  until  he  has  reached  the  last  pag^e.    Most 
ingeniously  constructed  and  well  written   into  the  bargain.  - 
Tribune.  __^ ___ __ __ ^__ 

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ROMAIN  HOLLAND'S 

JEAN-CHRISTOPHE 

DAWN       •        MORNING       •        YOUTH       •        REVOLT 

Translated   by   GILBERT   CANNAN. 


600  pp.    $1.50  net;  by  mail,  $1.62. 

It  commences  with  vivid  episodes  of  this  musician's  child- 
hood, his  fears,  fancies,  and  troubles,  and  his  almost  uncanny 
musical  sense.  He  plays  before  the  Grand  Duke  at  seven, 
but  he  is  destined  for  greater  things.  An  idol  of  the  hour,  in 
some  ways  suggesting  Richard  Strauss,  tries  in  vain  to  wreck 
his  faith  in  his  career.  Early  love  episodes  follow,  and  at  the 
close  the  hero,  like  Wagner,  has  to  fly,  a  hopeful  exile. 

'"Hats  off,  gentlemen— a  genius."  .  .  .  Has  the  time  come  for  the  2oth 
century  to  uncover  before  a  master  work?  A  book  as  big,  as  elemental,  as 
original  as  though  the  art  of  fiction  began  to-day."— Springfield  Republican. 
(Entire  notice  on  application?)  . 

"  The  most  momentous  novel  that  has  come  to  us  from  France,  or  from  any 
other  European  country,  in  a  decade.  .  .  .  Highly  commendable  and 
effective  translation  .  .  .  the  story  moves  at  a  rapid  pace.  It  never 
lags."— E.  F.  Edgett  in  Boston  Transcript. 

JEAN-CHRISTOPHE  IN  PARIS 

THE  MARKET-PLACE 
ANTOINETTE         •         THE  HOUSE 

473  PP-     $1-50  net;  by  mail,  $1.62. 

A  writer  in  the  London  Daily  Mail  comments  on  the 
French  volumes  here  translated  as  follows : — "  In  '  The  Mar- 
ket-Place,'  we  are  with  the  hero  in  his  attempt  to  earn  his 
living  and  to  conquer  Paris.  The  author  introduces  us  to 
the  numberless  '  society '  circles  in  Paris  and  all  the  cliques 
of  so-called  musicians  in  pages  of  superb  and  bitter  irony 
and  poetic  fire.  Christophe  becomes  famous.  In  the  next 
volume,  Antoinette  is  the  sister  of  Christophe's  great  friend, 
Olivier.  She  loves  Christophe.  .  .  .  This,  the  best  volume 
of  the  series,  is  a  flawless  gem.  '  The  House '  introduces  us 
to  the  friends  and  enemies  of  the  young  musician.  They 
gravitate  around  Christophe  and  Olivier,  amid  the  noisy  and 
enigmatic  whirl  of  Parisian  life." 

It  is  worth  adding  that  toward  the  close  of  this  book  a 
war-cloud  appears  between  France  and  Germany.  Chris- 
tophe, with  Olivier,  visits  his  mother  and  his  Fatherland. 

HENRY     HOLT     AND     COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS  NEW  YORK 


WILLIAM  DE  MORGAN'S  NOVELS 

"  WHY  ALL  THIS  POPULARITY  ?  "  asks  E.  V.  LUCAS,  writ- 
ing in  the  Outlook  of  De  Morgan's  Novels.  He  answers : 
De  Morgan  is  "  almost  the  perfect  example  of  the  humorist ; 
certainly  the  completest  since  Lamb  .  .  .  hardly  a  single 
page  is  free  from  a  smile.  .  .  .  Humor,  however,  is  not 
all.  There  must  also  be  enough  dramatic  interest  to  hold 
the  reader,  enough  fidelity  in  the  character-drawing  to  per- 
suade. ...  In  the  De  Morgan  world  it  is  hard  to  find  an 
unattractive  figure  .  .  .  the  charm  of  the  young  women. 
.  .  .  All  brave  and  humorous  and  gay,  and  all  trailing  clouds 
of  glory  from  the  fairyland  from  which  they  have  just  come." 

JOSEPH  VANCE 

The  story  of  a  great  sacrifice  and  a  life-long  love. 
"The  book  of  the  last  decade;  the   best  thing  in   fiction  since  Mr. 
Meredith  and  Mr.  Hardy  ;  must  take  its  place  as  the  first  great  English 
novel  that  has  appeared  in  the  twentieth  century."— LEWIS  MELVILLE 
in  New  York  Times  Saturday  Review. 

ALICE -FOR -SHORT 

The  romance  of  an  unsuccessful  man,  in  which  the  long 
buried  past  reappears  in  London  of  to-day. 

"If  any  writer  of  the  present  era  is  read  a  half  century  hence,  a 
quarter  century,  or  even  a  decade,  that  writer  is  William  De  Morgan." 
— Boston  Transcript. 

SOMEHOW  GOOD 

How  two  brave  women  won  their  way  to  happiness. 
"A  book  as  sound,  as  sweet,  as  wholesome,  as  wise,  as  any  in  the 
range  of  fiction."—  The  Nation. 

IT  NEVER  CAN  HAPPEN  AGAIN 

A  story  of  the  great  love  of  Blind  Jim  and  his  little  daugh- 
ter, and  of  the  affairs  of  a  successful  novelist. 

"De  Morgan  at  his  very  best,  and  how  much  better  his  best  is  than 
the  work  of  any  novelist  of  the  past  thirty  years  '"—The  Independent. 

AN  AFFAIR  OF  DISHONOR 

A  very  dramatic  novel  of  Restoration   days. 
"A  marvelous  example  of  Mr.  De  Morgan's  inexhaustible  fecundity 
of  invention.    .    .    .    Shines  as  a  romance  quite  as  much  as  'Joseph 
Vance'  does  among  realistic  novels."— Chicago  Record-Herald. 

A  LIKELY  STORY 

"  Begins  comfortably  enough  with  a  little  domestic  quarrel  in  a 
studio.  .  .  .  The  story  shifts  suddenly,  however,  to  a  brilliantly 
told  tragedy  of  the  Italian  Renaissance  embodied  in  a  g.rl's  portrait 
.  .  .  which  speaks  and  affects  the  life  of  the  modern  people  who  hear 
it.  ...  The  many  readers  who  like  Mr.  De  Morgan  will  enjoy  this 
charming  fancy  greatly."— New  York  Sun. 

A  Likely  Story,  $1.35  net;  the  others,  $1.75  each. 

***  A  thirty-two  page   illustrated   leaflet  about  Mr.  De  Morgan,  with 
complete  reviews  of  his  first  four  books,  sent  on  request. 

HENRY    HOLT    AND    COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS  NEW  YORK 


Grant  Allen's  Historical  Guides 

Each, 'complete  in  itself  and  sold  separately,  rounded 
corners,  pocket  size,  $1.50  net;  by  mail,  $1.58. 

CLASSICAL  ROME 

By  H.  STUART  JONES. 

"Few  men  could  be  so  well  equipped  for  the  task  of  its 
composition  as  the  author,  who  was  the  head,  for  a  time,  of 
the  British  archaeological  school  in  Rome,  and  is  well  known 
for  his  special  studies  in  a  very  important  part  of  the  field 
covered  by  this  book." — Nation. 

FLORENCE 

(New  edition,  revised  and  illustrated.) 
By  GRANT  ALLEN  ;  revised  by  J.  W.  and  A.  M.  CRUICKSHANK. 

"A  new  edition  of  a  standard  guide-book,  containing  some 
new  details  on  the  monuments  and  revised  to  conform  with 
many  changes  in  the  arrangement  of  the  museums  and  new 
information.  A  new  feature  is  thirty-two  illustrations." — 
American  Library  Association  Book  List. 

"They  have  turned  the  museums  at  Florence  topsy-turvy 
of  late  years,  so  that  this  new  edition  has  become  necessary. 
The  editing  has  been  entrusted  to  thoroughly  competent 
hands." — New  York  Sun. 

CHRISTIAN  ROME 

(New  edition,  revised  and  illustrated.) 

By  J.  W.  and  A.  M.  CRUICKSHANK. 

"  Uniform  with  the  new  edition  of  Allen's  Florence  It  has 
been  enlarged  about  twenty  pages  over  the  first  edition,  and 
contains  thirty-two  new  productions  of  paintings  to  be  used 
in  comparison  with  those  in  Rome." — American  Library 
Association  Book  List. 

"Admirably  compact  and  helpful." — Dial. 

SMALLER  TUSCAN  TOWNS 

(New  volume,  illustrated.)    By  GRANT  ALLEN. 

CITIES  OF  BELGIUM 
(New  edition,  revised  and  illustrated.)     By  GRANT  ALLKN. 

UMBRIAN  TOWNS 

(New  edition,  revised  and  illustrated.) 

By  J.  W.  and  A.  M.  CRUICKSHANK. 

PARIS.    By  GRANT  ALLEN.     8th  edition.     Illustrated. 

VENICE.    By  GRANT  ALLEN.    ;th  edition.     Illustrated. 

HENRY     HOLT    AND     COMPANY 

34  WEST  330  STRMT  NEW  YORK 


A     000  038  792    8 


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